MOTOR MATT'S TRIUMPH.
Edith Hawley was a stunningly pretty girl. There was little of her
father's looks about her, however, and it was quite clear that she got
most of her character from her mother's side of the house. She was a
little pale, but otherwise showed no bad effects of the ordeal through
which she had passed earlier in the day.
All those on the porch got up as the two callers drew near the
steps--that is, all except Welcome Perkins. The old ex-buccaneer of the
plains just sat where he was and glared.
"Excuse me for buttin' in here," said Hawley, "but my daughter's got a
little business with King." He turned to the girl. "Fire away, Edie,"
he added.
"Which is Mr. King?" queried the girl, in a low voice.
Matt stepped away from the others and came down the steps.
"I saw you when you stopped the horse," Edith Hawley went on, fixing
her hazel eyes on Matt's face, "but I couldn't remember much, then. I
want to thank you. Father brought me here so that I could. I want you
to understand how grateful I am."
She put out her hand timidly and Matt took it cordially.
"That's all right, Miss Hawley," said he, flushing. "What I did for you
I would have done for anybody caught in the same way."
"I believe that," she returned significantly. "Even if you had known
who I was it wouldn't have made any difference."
"Not a particle," answered Matt.
"Isn't there something my father can do for you?" she asked.
Matt shook his head.
"Well," she went on, "there's something I'm going to do for you." She
turned. "Father----"
"Wait a minute, Edie," interrupted Hawley. "Let me tell all of you,"
and he faced those on the porch, "just how I stand in the matter of
that minin'-claim. It won't take more'n a minute, and it may save a lot
of hard feelin's. I've been grub-stakin' Jacks for two or three years,
and he ain't never yet found anythin' but country rock. I was gettin'
tired o' puttin' up good money, an' the last time he started out I
told him he'd got to find somethin' or we'd split up our partnership.
I reckon that made him rather too keen for a strike, so that he didn't
care much how he made it just so he delivered the goods.
"Well, when Dace Perry came to me t'other day an' says he's found
a letter concernin' me an' Jacks, of course I read it; an', havin'
grub-staked Jacks, quite naturally I took his side. I sent Bisbee out
to help Jacks keep what was rightfully his an' mine, an' later I sent
Perry out on a horse to find out what they were doin' an' report.
"Well, Perry comes in with a location notice, an' says he had to ride
like Sam Hill to get ahead o' Matt King, who was hustling for town
with a notice o' McReady's. That's all Perry told me. Never a word,
mind ye, about scarin' Edie's horse an' makin' it run away, nary a word
about what Matt King done to stop the horse--all he said was what I'm
tellin' ye.
"By and by, Edie was brought home by a man I know, who had seen the
runaway from start to finish. He told me the whole of it."
Dirk Hawley's coarse, heavy face was flushed. His voice shook a little
as he went on.
"Edie's goin' to school in 'Frisco, an' she come out here to make her
father a short visit. There ain't anythin' I wouldn't do for her, an'
about the first thing I did after she struck town was to buy Ajax, that
white riding-horse. She knows how to ride, Edie does--none better--but
the way Perry scared the horse didn't leave Edie much of a chance. If
King hadn't taken after Ajax, I--I----"
Hawley snapped his heavy lower jaw and remained silent for a moment.
"Well," he finished, "I gave Perry three hours to get out of town an'
to go back to Denver where he belongs. He needs lookin' after, an' his
father's the one to do it. I know King won't let me do anythin' for
him, but I reckon he won't balk on takin' a little somethin' from Edie."
"I don't want any of your money, Mr. Hawley," began Matt, "if that's
what----"
"Sure you don't," broke in the gambler grimly, "you don't want any o'
my money an' you're not goin' to get any." He pulled a folded paper
from his pocket. "I'd have done this sooner," he went on, "only I had
to send my automobile out after Jacks. It was necessary for him to sign
the paper along with me."
He gave the document to Edith, and she turned and placed the paper in
Matt's hand.
"It's a quitclaim deed to that mine," she said, "and it's made out to
James McReady. It's yours, Mr. King, because you won it. If you hadn't
stopped to save me, you'd have got to the recorder's office first. It
isn't much to do for the service you rendered me, but I'm sure you
wouldn't let us do any more. Good-by!"
She held out her hand again. After Matt had clasped the small palm for
the second time, she turned, took her father's arm, and they went back
to the automobile.
In astonishment the group on the porch watched the car turn in the road
and disappear in the direction of town.
"Waal, waal!" gulped Welcome Perkins. "Somebody please ter pinch me,
so's I kin wake up. It must be a dream--can't be nothin' else. Dirk
Hawley! Actin' like that!"
Welcome picked up his wooden pin and looked hard at the brass tip on
the end of it.
Chub was also staggered.
"Get next that he didn't say anything about that underhand work," he
commented, "how he had the wireless instruments smashed, and all that."
"He's keeping such things from his daughter," said Susie. "Can you
blame him for that?"
"Let him be straight, then," put in Clip. "If he wants the girl to
think he's honest and respectable, let him act the part. It's the
easiest way."
"It was the gal as done it," grinned Welcome. "Dirk Hawley never'd hev
sashayed over here an' give up that quitclaim o' his own free will an'
accord. Not him!"
"You don't know about that, Welcome," said Matt. "It isn't always wise
to be so quick with your snap judgments."
"And Perry's gone," went on Clip, scowling. "Hawley ordered him out of
town. He had to go. And I had no chance to settle our account. Some day
we'll meet again. Those of my race do not forget easily. It will keep."
"Perry owes Hawley a heap of plunks, I've heard," put in Chub.
"Probably Perry had to hike or face a whole lot of trouble."
Matt stepped over to the prospector and gave him the quitclaim deed.
"That 'strike' of yours has made you a good deal of trouble, Mr.
McReady," said he, "but I don't think we have any of us got any kick
coming on the way the business has turned out. I hope the claim will
make a bonanza mine, and that the McReadys will have more money than
they can spend."
"Hip, hip, hurroo!" wheezed Welcome. "Canned stuff--that's what the
McReadys lives on fer all the rest o' their days."
"Canned stuff"--plenty of it--was Welcome's idea of luxury.
McReady, as he took the quitclaim deed, gripped Motor Matt's hand.
"Matt," said he, with feeling, "but for you, this would never have come
about. It was a big day for the McReadys when Chub chummed up with you,
my boy. You ought to share in this good luck; by every law of right and
justice, you're entitled to an interest in the 'strike.'"
Matt shook his head.
"It's a family affair," said he, "and you couldn't make me take even a
piece of quartz from the 'blow-out.'"
"That's Matt King for you," observed Tom Clipperton gruffly, edging
around until he stood at Matt's side. "True to his friends. That's why
he has made a hit with me."
Clipperton, on his own account, knew what it was to have Motor Matt for
a friend.
"We're going to Denver," Clipperton went on. "If Chub don't buy Penny's
motor-cycle, I'll buy it myself."
"I've got to hunt up that wheel," murmured Chub, who appeared to be a
bit dazed. "Mebby I'll have to pay for the old terror without getting
it. And there's Old Baldy, an' Perry's horse out at the Bluebell. Wish
I could call up Delray by wireless and tell him all about this. Matt,
you're the best pal in the world. Don't I wish I could go to Denver
with you. But it's me to the woods--or school."
Chub jumped for Matt and grabbed his hand.
"An' I'm wonderin'," said old Welcome plaintively, stumping forward
along the porch, "if ye'll let a pore ole reformed road-agent grip
yer honest pa'm, Matt? I've shore made some mistakes, an' among 'em I
thought ridin' that benzine go-devil o' Penny's was about the wust;
but I've changed my mind. If it hadn't been fer me makin' Hawley drap
on the bridge like I done, that there letter wouldn't never hev been
picked up by Matt, an' Hawley an' Perry would hev had things their own
way. Shucks! I'm in on this rejoicin' some myself. Ain't I now, honest
Injun?"
"You are, Welcome," declared Matt heartily; "if you hadn't been so
bull-headed, and had found out how to stop the motor-cycle as well as
to start it, that letter wouldn't have been picked up."
"Bull-headed!" demurred Welcome. "H'm! You hand out a word now an'
ag'in, that kinder jars. Anyhow, I'm proposin' three cheers fer Motor
Matt. Next ter the ole ex-pirate, he done more'n anybody else to save
the claim. Let 'er go, now. Jine in hearty, all you McReadys! Hip,
hip----"
They made a good deal of noise for a small crowd, and it's safe to say
that Motor Matt was the happiest one in the lot.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (3) WILL CONTAIN
Motor Matt's "Century" Run
OR,
THE GOVERNOR'S COURIER.
Welcome Takes a Sudden Drop--A Queer Situation--"Rags"--A Dangerous
Mission--The Red Roadster--Surmounting the Difficulty--Smoke
Signals--On the Divide--A Ruse that Won--At Potter's Gap--Joe
Bascomb--Bolivar Turns Up--The Red Roadster Again--On to Phoenix--The
End of the Mystery--Matt Reports to the Governor.
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
NEW YORK, March 6, 1909.
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AMONG THE ALLIGATORS.
A low, heavy mutter of thunder came booming through the hot, still air,
and Fred Kinnersly looked up sharply from the potatoes he was peeling
for his solitary supper. "Another storm!" he growled. "Two already
to-day, and now a third. This is beyond a joke."
He dropped his knife, and walked outside, onto the veranda of the
little two-roomed shack.
A huge blue-black cloud with hard, shell-like edges was rising over the
pines in the northwest, and once again the air quivered and a spark of
electric fire lit the heart of the great mountain of whirling vapor.
"Worst rains I've ever known," muttered Fred, "and this is my fifth
summer down south. We'll have the mine flooded if this goes on, and all
those niggers out of work." He paused; then: "Poor old Sam," he smiled.
"What an awful ducking he'll get coming home! Well, thank goodness
to-morrow's Saturday. This steamy heat is the very deuce to work in,
and I'll be glad of the lay-off on Sunday.
He was turning to go back into the house, when the thud of hoofs far up
the track made him pause, and presently a pony shot into sight among
the red pine trunks in the distance. Its rider, bending low in the
saddle, was sending the plucky little beast along at a furious gallop.
"Why, it's Jack Godfrey!" exclaimed Fred, in surprise. "Why on earth is
he in such a deuce of a hurry?"
The pony came tearing down the sandy track, sending spurts of wet sand
and water flashing behind it. Next moment Jack Godfrey pulled up at the
door and flung himself off the panting, sweating beast.
"What's up?" cried Fred Kinnersly. "You seem in a hurry."
"Is Sam French back yet?" gasped the other.
"No, of course not. He only left the mine after dinner. He generally
gets back about ten. Why, what's the matter?" as he saw Godfrey's face
go white under the tan.
"Ducane broke jail last night," said Godfrey hoarsely.
Kinnersly staggered. "Good heavens!" he muttered. "How?"
"Set fire to the place. He and his whole gang are out--five of them.
They're armed, too. Word came to Orange Port two hours ago that they'd
raided Lopez's place early this morning, and left in the direction of
the Big Cypress."
"Where's the sheriff?"
"On the wrong track. He thought they'd make for the sea, and he and
his posse went toward Wehila. Anderson, the deputy, has got three men,
and is on his way round the north end of the Big Cypress. He told me
to warn you, and to say that as the water's so high it'll probably be
midnight before he reaches Black Bayou."
Kinnersly was whiter than the other. The whole position was clear to
him.
In a few words it stood thus: He, Kinnersly, was sub-manager of the Big
Lone Pine Phosphate Mine, which lay about a mile from the edge of the
swamp known as the Big Cypress. This swamp was twenty-five miles long,
but not more than two to three wide.
On the other side of the swamp was Lakeville, the county town. It was
distant from the mine seven miles, as the crow flies, and more than
twenty by road.
Every Friday afternoon Sam French, the manager of the mine, went
to Lakeville in his buggy, accompanied by one negro, to fetch the
pay-money for the seventy hands employed in quarrying the phosphate.
Sam was well known and popular.
But now--well, there was no one in South Florida who had not heard of
the atrocities of Jean Ducane. The man was a mulatto, half French,
half negro, who had come to Florida from New Orleans. He had once been
employed in the Lone Pine Mine. Trouble began with his getting drunk
and insulting Sam, who had promptly knocked him down, and next morning
fired him.
Then Ducane had disappeared. A week later Sam French was shot at from
the scrub. The mine-hands, who were fond of their manager, made the
place too hot to hold the would-be murderer, and the next heard of
Ducane was down at Key West.
Escaping from Key West, the mulatto worked his way up the coast to
Tampa, where he burgled a bank. But even then he was not caught, and
the climax came when he returned to the neighborhood of Lakeville and
deliberately fired two houses in the suburbs, causing the death of a
woman and two children. The whole neighborhood rose in arms. Ducane was
caught, and four negroes with him, and jailed with difficulty by the
sheriff in the face of a mob yelling to lynch him.
And now this human wild beast was at large again, and both the young
fellows knew that the first thing he would do would be to hold up the
manager of the Lone Pine Mine and rob and murder him.
"You see, it's not only revenge," said Kinnersly. "The money would mean
everything to him and his gang. All in silver, too!"
"And Sam knows nothing!" cried Godfrey. He pulled out his watch. "What
time'll he be passing Black Bayou?"
"About eight, I should think."
"And it's nearly seven now," muttered Godfrey despairingly. "No horse
could do it in the time."
"You're sure it will be at Black Bayou?"
"Not a doubt of it. The place is made for a hold-up. Track narrow,
thick bay scrub both sides, and there'll be water over the road there,
so Sam'll have to walk his horse. It's a death-trap, Fred."
Fred Kinnersly set his teeth. "I'm going to warn him," he said quietly.
Godfrey started. "My dear chap, it's fourteen miles by road. Have you
a horse here that can do fourteen miles in an hour over Florida sand
and in this storm? Besides, you'd have to come through Black Bayou
yourself, and get shot for your pains, to a dead certainty."
"There's another way," said Fred.
"Another way!"
"Across the swamp!"
Godfrey laughed harshly. "You're crazy, Fred."
"Did you ever hear of the Spanish Causeway?" asked Kinnersly quietly.
"That! In this weather! Man, it's under water! All of it. And rotten
and broken. You couldn't do it in the dry season and in broad daylight.
Listen!"
Again the cloud spat blue fire, and the thunder bellowed angrily over
the fast darkening forest.
Kinnersly's jaw hardened. "I'm going to try it. Anything's better than
that Sam should be shot down and murdered."
"I tell you it's sheer lunacy. It'll be black dark in half an hour. I
wouldn't try it for ten thousand."
"You'll try it for Sam's life," said Kinnersly quietly.
Godfrey stared hard at the other. "You mean to go?"
"I do."
"All right. I'm your man."
In less than five minutes the two, heavily armed, were tramping rapidly
along a narrow path which led down a long, gradual slope toward the
swamp. By this time clouds had covered the sky and cut off the light of
the setting sun. Faster and faster the lightning-flashes shot through
the gloom, while the thunder crashed louder and louder till the very
ground trembled beneath the reverberations.
Then came the rain in sheets, as if a cataract was falling on the
forest. In a few moments the path was swimming. The men were ankle-deep
in water, which foamed under the lash of the falling torrents.
They stumbled over twisted roots; long, pliant branches switched their
faces; thorny creepers caught and tore their clothes and skin, while
now and then the ominous folds of a water-moccasin could be seen in the
tangled growth on either side the path.
But the two young men never faltered. Kinnersly leading, they pressed
on in single file. The path grew narrower. Here and there Kinnersly was
forced to slash the tough creeper with his knife before he could force
a passage.
They were on the level now, and the water was nearly knee-deep. To
Godfrey, who had never before traveled this path, it was a marvel how
Kinnersly found his way.
Gigantic cypresses rose on either side, shutting off the last remnants
of light with their monstrous heads of matted foliage; long trails of
melancholy Spanish moss brushed their faces, and the air was thick with
the pungent scent of palmetto bloom.
Slowly the storm died, passing away into the south, and as the rain
ceased the mosquitoes rose in stinging, humming swarms, and the noises
of the night swamp burst forth. Bullfrogs bellowed, tree-frogs bleated
like lost lambs, crickets shrilled, and owls hooted.
Suddenly Kinnersly sank almost to his waist, but struggled up again
immediately. "Look out, Jack. A hole in the causeway," he said quietly.
Godfrey felt the sucking mud beneath the water, and repressed a shiver.
At every step the water seemed to deepen. "Shall we do it, Fred?" he
muttered.
"It's more open farther on," replied the other. "If the water's
not too deep we'll be all right. If it is, we must do a bit of
swimming--that's all."
Again they plunged on through the hot darkness. Water and air alike
were stagnant. The close steam of the swamp was suffocating, and the
darkness was so intense that Godfrey had to follow rather by sound than
by sight.
All of a sudden the bushes broke away. They were in the open once more.
At that very moment the cloud broke, and the moon shone out clear. The
white light fell upon a sheet of water, a wide lagoon, which lay smooth
as oil, bounded on every side by a black wall of swamp vegetation.
"This seems to be where we swim, Fred," said Godfrey quietly.
"No," replied Fred. "The causeway crosses, but it's out of sight below
the water. Come on."
"Anything's better than those horrible bushes and creepers," said
Godfrey. He looked at his watch. "Fred, it's twenty to eight."
"We shall do it," was the confident reply. "It's easier going the far
side." As he spoke, Kinnersly stepped out from the shore, and, feeling
his way cautiously, walked steadily out across the lake.
Here and there were ugly gaps, but, in the main, the ancient masonry
built for some unknown purpose by long-forgotten Spaniards was sound.
Their spirits rose as they pressed on rapidly under the welcome light
of the full moon.
They were a couple of hundred yards from shore when, all of a sudden, a
black object, for all the world like a floating log, rose noiselessly
from the depths close on Kinnersly's right.
He stopped sharply, and Godfrey saw him draw his revolver from the
holster at his waist.
Godfrey needed no telling. He knew the nature of the new peril which
confronted them. An alligator!
Slowly, very slowly, the alligator rose till not only its great gnarled
head, but the whole of its long ridged back, was above the water.
"What a brute!" muttered Godfrey, instinctively drawing his big
hunting-knife. "Get on, Fred. The alligator's coming closer."
"There's an ugly place just here," replied the other, and Godfrey
saw his friend sink nearly to his shoulders, recover himself with an
effort, and scramble up the far side. "Wait; I'll help you, Jack," he
said, turning.
He pulled his friend across the gap, and then as they both stood up on
the far side, in water hardly more than ankle-deep, a simultaneous gasp
of horror burst from them both.
Three more alligators had appeared, and, even as they watched, more and
more of the hideous monsters rose in ominous silence above the quiet
water and came gliding slowly onward toward the causeway.
Their cruel, unwinking eyes shone like green fire in the moon-rays, and
the breathless air was full of a sickening odor of musk. There were
dozens of them; from huge, rugged veterans of ten or twelve feet and
weighing perhaps half a ton, down to fierce, active, hungry six-footers.
For a moment the two young fellows stood hesitating, staring
breathlessly at the nightmare spectacle before them. Then Kinnersly
desperately cried: "Come on, Jack!"
"Shoot. Why don't you shoot?" exclaimed Godfrey.
"Not till I have to," replied Kinnersly. "Ducane may hear and suspect.
If he does, he'll move farther up, and attack Sam before we can reach
him."
"But the brutes are closing in."
"Never mind. Come on. Keep close to me, and splash as much as you can."
Kinnersly walked forward. Even in the moonlight he could not see the
causeway so much as a step ahead. The thick brown swamp water hid it
completely. And both he and Godfrey knew that one false step meant a
death almost too horrible for words. An alligator fears a man upright
on dry land, but in its native element it fears nothing, and will pull
down a dog, a horse, a man, or a bull.
Closer and closer the dreadful brutes closed in till their yard-long
jaws actually rested upon the crumbling edges of the sunken causeway.
Now and then one would open his vast jaws and blow the air through his
nostrils with a noise like a giant snoring. Then the great yellow tusks
would clash together with a sharp, ringing sound horribly suggestive of
a steel trap closing.
Kinnersly, who was leading, found the water growing deeper.
"Is there a hole there?" cried Godfrey anxiously.
"Afraid there is, old man," replied Kinnersly, feeling cautiously with
one foot. "We ought to have brought sticks."
"The 'gators are closing up behind," said Godfrey desperately. "We must
shove ahead at any price."
"Right; I have found bottom. Come on." Kinnersly dropped onto his
knees. Immediately the whole horde of alligators began moving up.
Godfrey, following close behind his friend and splashing vigorously,
could not repress a shiver of horror. "Quick!" he hissed; "quick, or
they'll have us."
At that very moment the surface of the water broke in front of
Kinnersly, and out of the depths heaved itself up a nightmare
apparition. An alligator, bigger than any they had seen yet--a gnarled
and rugged monster of huge length and enormous girth.
Getting its short, thick forelegs onto the stonework, it hoisted itself
up, completely barring the way. Its cavernous mouth gaped open, showing
rows of huge, twisted tusks, which could have bitten a bull in two.
Its fetid breath blew full in Kinnersly's face, nearly sickening him
with the horrible, putrefying stench.
"Shoot him!" shouted Godfrey. "The others are coming."
There was no help for it. Kinnersly thrust the muzzle of his pistol
almost between the yawning rows of teeth and pulled the trigger.
With the report the monstrous brute flung itself high into the air,
and fell over sideways with a crash that sent a wave almost over their
heads. Next instant the placid water of the bayou was beaten into
showers of spray, which gleamed silver in the brilliant moonlight.
Waves dashed over the causeway. The two men stood still, appalled at
the fearful death-struggles of the monster.
"Thank goodness, you got him that time!" exclaimed Godfrey, struggling
up out of the water onto firmer ground.
Another moment and all was clear. The great alligator had vanished, and
with him the others, frightened at the commotion, had gone, too.
"Now's our chance!" cried Kinnersly, and pushed on with reckless speed.
Fortunately, the rest of the causeway was unbroken, and they reached
the far side of the lagoon in safety.
"They're coming up again," muttered Godfrey, glancing back.
"Never mind. They can't hurt us now," cried the other.
They were in the brush again, plunging in the mud under the thick
shadows of the cypress. Neither spoke. It was very near eight, and each
moment they expected to hear shots. Both dreaded they might be too late.
On they rushed, now waist-deep in a morass of mud and rotting
vegetation, now struggling through a tangle of wild grape and bamboo
vine.
At last, after what seemed an endless time, the footing grew firmer and
the ground began to rise. The cypress and palmetto gave place to pine
and wire grass.
"We're close to the road," muttered Kinnersly breathlessly. "And I only
hope Sam hasn't passed."
"Listen!" hissed the other, pulling up short. "Yes, I hear horses'
feet."
Once more they both rushed forward. The hoof-sounds grew plainer, and
the red glow of a cigar shone through the pine trunks.
Kinnersly flung himself recklessly into the open. "Sam, is that you?"
he hissed desperately.
There was a sharp exclamation. "Who's that?"
"I--Kinnersly. Stop!"
The buggy came to a standstill, and Kinnersly panted out his
explanation.
"You came through the swamp!" exclaimed French, as if he could not
believe his ears.
"Yes, but don't you understand? Ducane's loose."
"Oh, that's all right," said the other coolly. "He'll be down in Black
Bayou, half a mile away. What fazes me is how you chaps came along the
causeway. It was mighty white of you, and I'm real grateful. Jump in,
an' let's git along an' interview this here Ducane."
For the life of him Kinnersly could not help laughing. "Sam, don't be a
fool! There are probably five of them, and you bet they'll be lying up
in the timber. The first you know will be they've shot you."
"I reckon not," returned French, as coolly as before. "It's going to
cost me a horse, but that's a sight cheaper'n a thousand dollars in
United States currency. Get right in, boys. I've got it all planned
inside here," touching the top of his head.
With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Kinnersly obeyed, and Godfrey
followed.
"Get your shooting-irons ready," said Sam, in a low voice, at the same
time throwing away his cigar. "Now, don't say a word, any of you, or
make any noise."
He drove on till the ground dipped again and the narrow road descended
toward the gloomy shadow of a thicket of bays. Then he pulled up, got
out, and motioned to the others to do the same.
He took out the bags of coin, propped a cushion on the seat with a coat
over it, tied the reins to the splash-board, and clucked to the horse
to go on.
Kinnersly chuckled silently. "I see now," he whispered.
"Glad o' that," remarked Sam. "Now we'll keep along in the bushes a bit
behind the wagon. You come along with me, Kinnersly, an', Godfrey, you
take the nigger. I don't need to tell you to shoot straight when the
chance comes."
The horse went splashing slowly through the water, here about a foot
deep. The four men stole noiselessly along through the bushes on either
side.
They had gone perhaps a hundred yards, and reached the bottom of the
hollow, where the water was axle-deep, when suddenly a rifle crashed,
and a spit of fire flashed from the bushes to the right.
"Got him," came a shout, and men came plunging out of the scrub and
surrounded the wagon.
"Now, lads!" came a crisp command from French, and at the word four
weapons spoke simultaneously.
Three of the robbers dropped in their tracks. The other two stood
dumfounded, unable to imagine whence the sudden attack had come.
Then one of them--Ducane himself--gave a yell of defiance, and came
charging furiously toward French's party, firing as he ran.
A bullet whipped Kinnersly's hat from his head. Then a second volley
rang out, and Ducane flung up his hands, and, without a sound, fell
over on his back. The fifth man ran for his life.
French walked up to the spot where Ducane's body floated.
A patch of white moonlight fell full on the twisted yellow face, and
showed a red hole in the very center of the forehead.
"Saved the hangman a job," he said quietly. "Now I reckon we'll walk
back to Lakeville, if these other wounded rascals can do the trick.
We'll go to the hotel, and the supper's on me to-night, boys."
_ESPECIALLY IMPORTANT!!_
MOTOR STORIES
_A New Idea in the Way of Five-Cent Weeklies._
Boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that Street & Smith are now
issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of
MOTOR STORIES.
This weekly is entirely different from anything now being published.
It details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a
motor cycle. Is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these
swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout
the United States? Is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely
interested in the adventures of "Motor Matt," as he is familiarly
called by his comrades?
Boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous
and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this
line, called "=Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel=." Its fame is
bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other
numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this
class of literature.
Here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. Do not fail
to place an order for them with your newsdealer.
No. 1. Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.
No. 2. Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.
No. 3. Motor Matt's "Century" Run; or, The Governor's Courier.
No. 4. Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the _Comet_.
32 LARGE SIZE PAGES SPLENDID COLORED COVERS
PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY
AT ALL NEWSDEALERS, OR SENT POSTPAID BY THE PUBLISHERS UPON RECEIPT OF
THE PRICE.
_STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK_
NUMBERS 1 TO 396
TIP TOP WEEKLY
ARE CONTAINED IN THE MEDAL LIBRARY
We know that there are thousands of boys who are very much interested
in the early adventures of Frank and Dick Merriwell and who want to
read everything that was written about them.
We desire to inform these boys that numbers 1 to 396 are pretty well
out of print in the TIP TOP WEEKLY, but all of them can be secured in
the numbers of the NEW MEDAL LIBRARY given below.
_The_ NEW
MEDAL
LIBRARY
AT
FIFTEEN CENTS
[Illustration]
150--Frank Merriwell's School-days.
167--Frank Merriwell's Chums.
178--Frank Merriwell's Foes.
184--Frank Merriwell's Trip West.
189--Frank Merriwell Down South.
193--Frank Merriwell's Bravery.
197--Frank Merriwell's Hunting Tour.
201--Frank Merriwell in Europe.
205--Frank Merriwell at Yale.
209--Frank Merriwell's Sports Afield.
213--Frank Merriwell's Races.
217--Frank Merriwell's Bicycle Tour.
225--Frank Merriwell's Courage.
229--Frank Merriwell's Daring.
233--Frank Merriwell's Athletes.
237--Frank Merriwell's Skill.
240--Frank Merriwell's Champions.
244--Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale.
247--Frank Merriwell's Secret.
251--Frank Merriwell's Danger.
254--Frank Merriwell's Loyalty.
258--Frank Merriwell in Camp.
262--Frank Merriwell's Vacation.
267--Frank Merriwell's Cruise.
271--Frank Merriwell's Chase.
276--Frank Merriwell in Maine.
280--Frank Merriwell's Struggle.
284--Frank Merriwell's First Job.
288--Frank Merriwell's Opportunity.
292--Frank Merriwell's Hard Luck.
296--Frank Merriwell's Protégé.
300--Frank Merriwell on the Road.
304--Frank Merriwell's Own Company.
308--Frank Merriwell's Fame.
312--Frank Merriwell's College Chums.
316--Frank Merriwell's Problem.
320--Frank Merriwell's Fortune.
324--Frank Merriwell's New Comedian.
328--Frank Merriwell's Prosperity.
332--Frank Merriwell's Stage Hit.
336--Frank Merriwell's Great Scheme.
340--Frank Merriwell in England.
344--Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards.
348--Frank Merriwell's Duel.
352--Frank Merriwell's Double Shot.
356--Frank Merriwell's Baseball Victories.
359--Frank Merriwell's Confidence.
362--Frank Merriwell's Auto.
365--Frank Merriwell's Fun.
368--Frank Merriwell's Generosity.
371--Frank Merriwell's Tricks.
374--Frank Merriwell's Temptation.
377--Frank Merriwell on Top.
380--Frank Merriwell's Luck.
383--Frank Merriwell's Mascot.
386--Frank Merriwell's Reward.
389--Frank Merriwell's Phantom.
392--Frank Merriwell's Faith.
395--Frank Merriwell's Victories.
398--Frank Merriwell's Iron Nerve.
401--Frank Merriwell in Kentucky.
404--Frank Merriwell's Power.
407--Frank Merriwell's Shrewdness.
410--Frank Merriwell's Set-back.
413--Frank Merriwell's Search.
416--Frank Merriwell's Club.
419--Frank Merriwell's Trust.
422--Frank Merriwell's False Friend.
425--Frank Merriwell's Strong Arm.
428--Frank Merriwell as Coach.
431--Frank Merriwell's Brother.
434--Frank Merriwell's Marvel.
437--Frank Merriwell's Support.
440--Dick Merriwell at Fardale.
443--Dick Merriwell's Glory.
446--Dick Merriwell's Promise.
449--Dick Merriwell's Rescue.
452--Dick Merriwell's Narrow Escape.
455--Dick Merriwell's Racket.
458--Dick Merriwell's Revenge.
461--Dick Merriwell's Ruse.
464--Dick Merriwell's Delivery.
467--Dick Merriwell's Wonders.
470--Frank Merriwell's Honor.
473--Dick Merriwell's Diamond.
476--Frank Merriwell's Winners.
479--Dick Merriwell's Dash.
482--Dick Merriwell's Ability.
485--Dick Merriwell's Trap.
488--Dick Merriwell's Defense.
491--Dick Merriwell's Model.
494--Dick Merriwell's Mystery.
=Published About January 5th=
497--Frank Merriwell's Backers.
=Published About January 26th=
500--Dick Merriwell's Backstop.
=Published About February 16th=
503--Dick Merriwell's Western Mission.
=Published About March 9th=
506--Frank Merriwell's Rescue.
=Published About March 30th=
509--Frank Merriwell's Encounter.
=Published About April 20th=
512--Dick Merriwell's Marked Money.
=Published About May 11th=
515--Frank Merriwell's Nomads.
=Published About June 1st=
518--Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron.
=Published About June 22nd=
521--Dick Merriwell's Disguise.
STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, NEW YORK CITY
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
A table of contents was added.
The oe-ligature was used inconsistently in the word "Phoenix." In
this text file, all oe-ligatures have been expanded to the letters
"oe."
Page 4, changed "MacReady" to "McReady."
Page 5, changed double to single quotes around "blow-out."
Page 6, changed ? to ! in "Howdy, Clip!"
Page 11, changed "topppled" to "toppled."
Page 19, changed "Mat flung" to "Matt flung."
Page 24, changed ? to ! in "Howdy, Matt!"
Page 27, changed "Edth" to "Edith."
Page 28, added missing em-dash to "NEXT NUMBER" summary.
Page 29, removed unnecessary quote before "Kinnersly staggered."
Page 30, changed incorrect character name from Godfrey to Kinnersly in
"'Not till I have to,' replied Kinnersly."