BLANKED.
Only two shots were fired. Before the two scoundrels in the road could
send any more bullets after Matt and his friends, their car had swept
back into the road and the other automobile acted as a barricade.
"Siwash must have known who we were," remarked McGlory. "How do you
reckon he found that out?"
"The way we kept on going when he ordered us to halt was enough for
him," said Matt.
"I'll bet it was a surprise," chuckled McGlory. "Wish I could be close
to Murg when he hears about it. We're in the lead, now, and I hope we
can keep it."
"If the motor hangs together," returned Black, "we'll not only keep it,
but increase it. That's a murderous gang, back there," he added. "There
must be something mighty important awaiting you fellows at the post
trader's to cause Siwash Charley to break loose like that!"
"Murgatroyd is back of it," said Matt.
"Murgatroyd? There's a double-dyed scoundrel, if I ever knew one."
Black's expressing himself in this manner opened the way for Matt to
tell him the true inwardness of that night's work.
"You're the sort of fellows I like to help!" cried Black, as soon as
Matt had placed the situation before him. "It's a fine thing for Mrs.
Traquair, and it speaks mighty well for you that you've jumped into
this thing like you've done. Not many young fellows would have gone
to all that trouble, with the prospect of a broken neck, or a bullet
between the ribs as a possible reward. But let me tell you something,
Motor Matt."
Black spoke very earnestly, and commanded the instant attention of the
king of the motor boys.
"What's that, Mr. Black?"
"If I were you, I'd be more afraid of that aëroplane than of Siwash
Charley or Murgatroyd."
"Flying the aëroplane is the least of my worries. I'm sure I can handle
it all right."
"Don't be too sure. Traquair invented the machine, and it stands to
reason that he knew it as well as any human being could; but see what
happened! Something snapped, a gust of wind hit the aëroplane, and the
whole business came down like a piece of lead."
"Accidents are always liable to happen, of course," said Matt; "the
only thing to do is to guard against them as well as you can, and do
your best."
"This North Dakota wind is a hard thing to figure on," pursued Black.
"It gathers terrific force coming across the prairies, and it's liable
to come up quick. I don't think Traquair's aëroplane could stand a
sixty-mile-an-hour wind."
"She couldn't make any headway against it, but I believe she could be
kept upright."
"That's your look out, Motor Matt, and I don't want to throw any wet
blanket on your hopes. Be careful, that's all, and----"
Black broke off with an angry exclamation. The motor began to miss
fire, and finally came to a stop.
Matt, his head inclined, had been listening sharply.
"What's the matter now?" asked Black, getting out.
"It's the carburetor, now," said Matt. "Sounds to me as though it was
clogged."
The carburetor was taken apart and freed of the obstruction that kept
the gasoline out of the mixing chamber.
A delay of half an hour was caused, and while they were at a halt an
anxious look out was kept along the road, behind. Much to the relief
of the boys and the real estate man, the other car failed to put in an
appearance.
"They must be hung up with something serious," observed Black, as he
once more started the car in the direction of Lallie.
"It can't be too serious to suit me," laughed McGlory. "I won't make
any kick if they're kept back there on the road for a week."
"No such luck as that, Joe," said Matt.
Black was about to say something more when the motor went wrong again.
It began to pound furiously.
Black's exasperation reached a point where he was tempted to say
things. Matt, however, laughed at his impatience, and proceeded to
right the trouble, warning his friends to keep a sharp look along the
back track while he was doing it.
There was an hour's delay, this time, but still the other car did not
show up, and Matt and his companions finally continued on their way,
congratulating themselves that they were still in the lead.
Not much time was spent in Lallie. The town was dark, and all the
inhabitants had undoubtedly been abed and asleep for several hours.
Matt looked at his watch just as they were bumping over the railroad
tracks into the northeast road that led to Totten.
"Two o'clock," announced Matt.
Black groaned.
"Elegant time we're making," said he, "but we'll be at the post
trader's by three o'clock, providing we don't have any more breakdowns."
This road was not nearly so good as the one they had been following,
mainly because it was not so well traveled. Not more than fifteen miles
an hour could be made.
"There's another road to Totten from Oberon," observed Black. "That
road comes into this one about five miles this side of Totten. We'll
soon be at the forks, now. I didn't suggest taking the Oberon road,
because it's a good deal worse than the one we're following."
When they were close to the forks, the creak of a wagon reached their
ears, and the gas lamps showed them a loaded vehicle just pulling into
the Oberon road. This was the first team they had met since leaving
Jamestown.
"Say, there!" yelled a man on the wagon. "Slow up a little with that
chug cart o' yourn, will ye? My hosses ain't used ter sich sights."
Black lessened the speed and came on more slowly. The wagon was at a
standstill, and the horses were snorting and rearing against the pole.
The car got past without causing an accident, however, and, a little
after three, drew up in front of the post trader's store.
The store was at the foot of a hill which overlooked the lake, and was
surrounded by the fort. As was to be expected, the store was dark, and
seemed deserted.
"Benner lives in the back part," said Black. "Go around the side of the
building, Matt, and knock on the door. You'll not be long getting him
up. I'll wait here till I see what luck you have, and then I'll put up
the car and bunk down somewhere for the rest of the night."
Matt and McGlory jumped out of their seats and followed around the
plank wall of the building. Although it was dark as Egypt in the shadow
of the wall, yet they succeeded in locating the door, and pounded a
loud summons on its panels.
The post trader was a sound sleeper, and it took three or four minutes
to develop any signs of life within the dark store building.
At last, however, they could hear some one stirring around. A light
appeared in a window, and a shuffling step was heard approaching the
door.
"If you're Injuns," cried an angry voice, "get out! You can come after
what you want in the mornin'."
"We're not Indians," said Matt. "Are you Mr. Benner?"
"That's my name, yes."
"Then we've got important business with you. Please open the door."
"Beats all a feller can't have no sleep," grumbled Mr. Benner, shoving
a bolt and jerking the door open.
A big, sandy-haired man, in undershirt and trousers, stood confronting
the boys, a flickering candle upheld in his right hand.
"What d'ye want?" demanded Benner.
"Here's a paper I want you to read," answered Matt, taking from his
pocket Mrs. Traquair's order for the aëroplane, and handing it to the
post trader.
Benner grabbed the paper in his left hand, and held the candle in front
of it.
"Jumpin' Mariar!" he gasped. "Here's an order for that bloomin' flyin'
machine."
"Yes. We're here to take charge of it, Mr. Benner."
"Oh, y' are, eh? Well, I haven't got it. Looks kinder suspicious, too,
this here order does."
"Haven't got it?" repeated Matt, staring at McGlory.
"Ain't I tellin' ye?" answered Benner in an irritated tone.
"Did some men come here in an automobile, a little while ago, and take
it away?"
"Any one would have played hob takin' that flyin' machine away in an
automobile," scowled Benner. "There's somethin' mighty queer about
this. Step inside, you two, an' I'll show you that telegram."
Intensely disappointed, the two boys stepped into the room. Benner
placed the candle on the table, and picked up a yellow sheet, which he
handed to Matt.
"That come to the fort, about two hours ago, an' the leftenant sent it
down ter me," explained Benner. "I had to hustle some, but I worked
through the trick. Now, less'n an hour after I get to bed, here you
fellers come askin' for the flyin' machine. That's more'n I kin
understand, that is."
The telegram read as follows:
"Send flying machine on the jump to Oberon. Get it off within an hour
after you receive this. Will settle for your trouble with the man who
brings it."
This message was addressed to the post trader, at Fort Totten; had been
sent from Oberon, and was signed by "Mrs. Traquair."
"Oh, sufferin' dummies!" cried McGlory. "Blanked, or I'm a Piute!"
Matt was fully as much wrought up as was his chum.
"This message is a forgery, Mr. Benner!" he cried. "Mrs. Traquair isn't
in Oberon, and she never sent it."
"How was I ter know that?" snorted the post trader. "Soon's I got the
message, I routed out my man, Jake, an' we hitched up to the wagon,
loaded on that consarned machine that I've been holdin here, an' Jake
started with it fer Oberon."
The cowboy gave a groan, and fell over against the wall.
"That must have been him we passed, Matt," he murmured.
Without pausing to reply, Matt whirled and ran out of the room. The
aëroplane was on the road to Oberon, but the automobile could easily
overtake the wagon. It was well, however, not to lose any time.