MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 27
AUG. 28, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
ENGAGEMENT
OR ON THE ROAD
WITH A SHOW
_STREET & SMITH
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK_
[Illustration: _Motor Matt, as he coaxed the last ounce of speed
from the motor, shouted encouragingly to the terrified girl on the
trapeze._]
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Copyright, 1909, by_
STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._
No. 27. NEW YORK, August 28, 1909. Price Five Cents.
Motor Matt's Engagement;
OR,
ON THE ROAD WITH A SHOW.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. "ON THE BANKS OF THE WABASH."
CHAPTER II. IN THE CALLIOPE TENT.
CHAPTER III. AN EAVESDROPPER.
CHAPTER IV. QUEER PROCEEDINGS.
CHAPTER V. MOTOR MATT PROTESTS.
CHAPTER VI. ABLAZE IN THE AIR.
CHAPTER VII. WAS IT TREACHERY?
CHAPTER VIII. A CALL FOR HELP.
CHAPTER IX. BLACK MAGIC.
CHAPTER X. THE MAHOUT'S FLIGHT.
CHAPTER XI. THE PAPER TRAIL.
CHAPTER XII. CARL TURNS A TRICK.
CHAPTER XIII. THE LACQUERED BOX.
CHAPTER XIV. THE HYPNOTIST'S VICTIM.
CHAPTER XV. "FOR THE SAKE OF HAIDEE!"
CHAPTER XVI. THE RAJAH'S NIECE.
SAVED BY A FALLING TREE.
How They Captured the Python.
ON THE ROAD TO MANDALAY.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Motor Matt King.=
=Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and
character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A
good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.
=Ping=, a Chinese boy who insists on working for Motor Matt, and who
contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable.
=Carl Pretzel=, an old chum who flags Motor Matt and more trouble
than he can manage, at about the same time. In the rôle of detective,
he makes many blunders, wise and otherwise, finding success only to
wonder how he did it.
=Ben Ali=, an elephant driver; a Hindoo gifted in the arts for which
his country is famous and infamous. The uncle of Margaret Manners, he
revenges himself upon his brother, the rajah, in a way that proves
his own undoing.
=Aurung Zeeb=, another elephant driver, and a friend of Ben Ali,
assisting in his scoundrelly work.
=Haidee=, whose real name is Margaret Manners, a girl from India, who
becomes the hypnotic subject of Ben Ali, and is saved from him by
Motor Matt and Carl.
=Boss Burton=, manager and proprietor of the Big Consolidated Shows.
A man who tries to be "square," in his own remarkable way.
CHAPTER I.
"ON THE BANKS OF THE WABASH."
Strange, how a few harmless ingredients, thrown together and mixed,
will set the trouble pot a-boiling.
Saltpeter is an innocent and useful product, and so is charcoal and
sulphur; but seventy-five per cent. of the first, fifteen per cent. of
the second, and ten per cent. of the third, when properly mixed, will
make gunpowder--an explosive that has slain millions, made kingdoms
over into republics, and changed the map of the world again and again.
So, on this beautiful morning, with the banks of the Wabash River for a
setting, fate was juggling with a few trifling elements for the purpose
of combining them and manufacturing trouble.
The Big Consolidated Shows were pitching their tents near that part of
the river, and two of the ingredients that helped form the dangerous
mixture were connected with the "tented aggregation."
One was the big elephant, Rajah, who had a tremendous thirst and was
wabbling along toward the river for a drink; the other was a Chinese
boy, dipping a couple of pails of water from the stream for the steam
calliope. The third element--the one having no connection with the
show--was a German youth with a weakness for bursting into song.
The elephant, dryer than the desert of Sahara, was making big and rapid
tracks for the brightly gleaming water, the Chinaman was leisurely
filling his pails, and the German was strolling along the bank, dusty
from a long tramp and with a stick over his shoulder from which swung a
bundle bound up in a knotted handkerchief.
If the German had known how to sing he would not have attracted the
attention of the Chinaman; and if the Chinaman had not looked and
grunted his disgust, the German would not have become hostile; and if
Rajah, the elephant, had not possessed such a playful disposition, the
German and the Chinaman would probably have separated with no more than
a few mongrel words of personal opinion. But fate was working overtime
that day, and had an eye for weird combinations.
"Ach, der moon vas shining pright upon der Vabash,
From der fieldts dere comes some shmells oof new-mown hay,
Droo der candlelight der sycamores vas gleaming,
On der panks oof der Vabash, righdt avay!"
This was the German's song, and it sounded as though it had been played
on a fish horn. The Chinaman could be seen to shiver as he deposited
a pailful of water on the bank, straightened erect, and looked at the
singer. There was that in his slant eyes which brought the German to a
halt.
"Don'd you like der song, shink?" demanded the Dutchman, pushing out
his chin in an irritating way.
"Woosh!" snorted the Chinaman, "you makee sing all same like poodle dog
makee howl."
"Py shiminy," cried the Dutchman, "I fight pedder as I sing. I don'd
let no monkey mit a pigdail make some foolishness mit me."
"Dutchy boy clazy," declared the Celestial.
"I nefer liked der shinks anyways," went on the other, dropping his
stick and his bundle. "Dey vas sheap skates, you bet you, und vas
alvays taking avay goot shobs from American fellers. I vill tie you oop
in some bowknots mit your pigdail und trop you py der rifer. Yah, so."
"Dutchy boy makee spell 'able,'" and the Chinaman, with supreme
contempt, picked up his empty pail.
"You peen afraidt mit yourseluf!" shouted the Dutchman.
"My plenty busy; makee cally water fo' calliope. No gottee time to
fight. Come 'lound after palade, China boy makee Dutchy boy suppa' fo'
lion."
"Dot's me," breathed the Dutchman, picking up his stick and bundle.
"I'll be aroundt after dot barade, you bed my life, und I don'd make
some subber for der lion, neider."
He started on slowly.
Unnoticed by either of the boys, the mahout on Rajah's neck had kept
the elephant close to the river bank. The mahout was dozing, and Rajah
was filling the piece of hose, more generally known as his trunk, with
Wabash water and squirting it into his open mouth.
Now, Rajah was an eccentric elephant. There were times when he was full
of mischief and playful, and other times when the wild jungle blood got
the upper hand of him and he became dangerous.
On two or three occasions, when Old Ben, the African lion, had tried
to mix things with the royal Bengal tiger, Rajah had been called in to
separate the fighters with a well-directed stream, hurled with catapult
force from his trunk.
Rajah's cunning little eyes had been taking in the quarrel between the
Dutchman and the Chinaman. Something prompted him to elevate his trunk
and throw a stream after the retreating Dutch boy.
The lad was knocked off his feet, his stick going one way and his
bundle the other. He jumped to his feet, spluttering, and whirled
around.
Rajah was innocently squirting a dozen or more gallons of the river
into his capacious throat, but the Chinaman, the empty pail still in
his hand, was laughing so that he almost fell off the bank.
It was the most natural thing in the world for the Dutch boy, in the
excitement of the moment, to lay the whole blame on the Chinese boy's
shoulders.
The Dutchman had not seen Rajah use his trunk, and the Chinaman had. It
was very laughable, and the Chinaman's cackling mirth was unrestrained.
The Dutchman saw only the empty bucket in the Chinaman's hand, and it
seemed certain the deluge of water had come from the bucket.
"I gif you fits for dot, py shiminy!" whooped the Teuton.
"No can do!" declared the Celestial.
The Dutchman came on with a bound, his dripping clothes sprinkling
everything in his vicinity.
The Chinaman threw the bucket. The other dodged. The bucket sailed on
through the air and struck Delhi, Rajah's mate, a sharp rap on her big,
fanning ear. Delhi trumpeted loudly and started furiously after the
boys.
Both the Chinaman and the Dutchman, their faculties completely wrapped
up in their quarrel, gave no attention to the elephants. Coming
together like a thousand of brick, they clinched and wrestled back and
forth on the bank.
Delhi, wild with anger, gave no heed to the fierce prodding of her
mahout, but rushed onward, her trunk stretched eagerly ahead of her
and twitching and curving in its desire to lay hold of the struggling
youngsters.
For a second the prospect was very dark for the Teuton and the
Celestial. What would have happened to them is problematical if Delhi
had had her way. But the big brute was not allowed to work her will.
Rajah interfered; not out of any desire to be of help to the boys, but
rather to assist his mate in securing vengeance.
Quickly Rajah aimed his trunk and hurled a stream of water. The jet
struck the two boys, lifted them from their feet, and hurled them into
the river. The lads were tossed from the bank in just the nick of time.
Hardly were they clear of the spot where they had been wrestling when
Delhi's disappointed trunk swept over it.
Rajah's mahout, of course, had aroused himself, and he and the other
man got busy bringing the elephants into subjection.
The Dutchman and the Chinaman had fallen into deep water. It was
necessary to disentangle themselves from each other in order to swim
and keep from being drowned.
As Delhi backed away from the water's edge, under the blows of her
mahout's sharp, steel prod, she flung the Dutchman's bundle and stick
at the thrashing forms in the water, and followed these with the
buckets.
"I can do oop a shink mit vone hand," gurgled the Dutchman, as his
dripping head appeared above the surface of the river; "aber ven a
goople oof elephants iss rung indo der game, den I don'd---- Wow!"
The handkerchief bundle, hurled with terrific force, struck him on the
head and sent him under.
"Dutchy boy no good!" spluttered the Chinaman. "Him velly fine false
alarm---- Woosh!"
One of the buckets hit the Celestial in the small of the back and
he vanished in a flurry of bubbles. When he and the Dutchman again
reappeared, Delhi and Rajah were under control and no further danger
threatened.
"What's the matter with you two kids?" cried Delhi's mahout, excited
and angry.
"Der shink drew some vater on me," answered the Dutchman, "und made
more monkey-doodle pitzness dan I vould shtand for."
"Him no savvy," declared the Chinese. "El'fant makee thlow water."
Rajah's mahout was a Hindoo. In a queer jargon of broken English, he
described the way Rajah had hosed down the Dutchman as the latter was
walking off.
The other mahout lost his wrath in a flood of merriment.
"It's all a mistake!" he called. "Come out o' the wet and stop your
foolishness. If ye try to do any more fightin', I'll set Delhi onto you
ag'in."
The Dutchman labored ashore with his stick and his bundle, and the
Chinaman followed with his buckets.
"What do you s'pose Motor Matt would think of this, Ping?" went on the
mahout. "If he----"
But what the mahout was intending to say was lost in a roar of
amazement and delight from the Dutchman.
"Vat's dot? Modor Matt? Vere he iss, anyvay? Say, I vas his bard, und I
peen looking for him efery blace, longer as I can dell. Shpeak, vonce!
Vere iss Modor Matt?"
"China boy Motol Matt's pard," spoke up the dripping Ping. "My workee
fo' Motol Matt; Dutchy boy no workee."
"Py shiminy, I dell you some more dot I peen Carl Pretzel," shouted
the Dutchman, "und dot I vas looking for der show, und ditn't know I
vould findt Modor Matt at der same dime. Vere iss he, misder?" and Carl
appealed anxiously to the mahout.
"He's travelin' with the show, youngster," answered the mahout, "an'
doin' a flyin'-machine stunt twice a day. If ye want to find him, hike
for the show grounds."
Without paying any further attention to Ping or the elephants, Carl
gathered in his cap--which lay at the water's edge, and was the only
thing belonging to him that was not dripping wet--and laid a rapid
course for the top of the bank.
Ping, filling the pails, started after Carl, worrying not a little over
this new pard of Motor Matt's who had appeared so unexpectedly on the
scene.