MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 1
FEB. 27, 1909.
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR
MATT
THE KING
OF THE WHEEL
BY
STANLEY R. MATTHEWS.
[Illustration: A thousand dollars if you stop that boy! shouted the man
in the back of the touring-car]
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to
Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of
Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue,
New York, N. Y._
No. 1. NEW YORK, February 27, 1909. Price Five Cents.
MOTOR MATT;
OR,
The King of the Wheel.
By STANLEY R. MATTHEWS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. BAD BLOOD.
CHAPTER II. THE UNEXPECTED.
CHAPTER III. DACE SHOWS HIS HAND.
CHAPTER IV. WELCOME SHOWS HIS HAND--WITH SOMETHING IN IT.
CHAPTER V. DACE PERRY'S CRAFTINESS.
CHAPTER VI. THE TRY-OUT.
CHAPTER VII. THE MAJOR'S SURPRISE.
CHAPTER VIII. THE RABBITT'S FOOT.
CHAPTER IX. MATT SHOWS HIS COLORS.
CHAPTER X. A CHALLENGE.
CHAPTER XI. FOUL PLAY.
CHAPTER XII. COOL VILLAINY.
CHAPTER XIII. THE BLUEBELL.
CHAPTER XIV. COMING OF THE "COMET."
CHAPTER XV. THE FLIGHT OF THE "COMET."
CHAPTER XVI. MOTOR MATT, KING OF THE WHEEL!
THE MAN-HUNTER.
THE RAT CRUSADE.
CHAPTER I.
BAD BLOOD.
"Hello, peaches!"
The girl in the calico dress turned quickly. There was a startled look
in her brown eyes, and she drew back a little from the gate.
The laughing words had been flung at her breathlessly by a boy who was
trotting along the road--a boy in running-togs with "P. H. S." in red
letters across the breast of his white shirt. He came from the north,
and the girl had been leaning upon the gate and looking south, across
the bridge that spanned the canal and led into the town of Phoenix.
"I--I don't think I know you," murmured the girl, a look of repugnance
crossing her brown, pretty face.
"Yes, you do," panted the boy, swinging in toward the gate and coming
to a halt. "Sure you know me." Catching hold of the gate-palings he
steadied himself and grinned in a manner which he must have thought
engaging. "Why, you've seen me a dozen times, anyhow. Take another
look."
After stealing a furtive glance at him the girl took a step backward.
"I've seen you, yes," she said quietly, "but I don't know you--and I
don't think I care to know you."
"Don't jump at conclusions like that," the boy went on with a cool
laugh. "You're old McReady's girl, Susie, and I'm--well, right here's
where I introduce myself. I'm Dace Perry, captain of the High School
cross-country team. Had the boys out for a practise run this morning,
and as I'm 'way in the lead of all of them except Clipperton, I reckon
I'll linger in this fair spot until they come up. Don't be so bashful,
Susie; I won't bite, honest."
"I'm not afraid of your biting, Dace Perry," answered Susie with a
flirt of the head. "If all I've heard of you is true, you're more given
to barking than anything else."
Temper flashed an instant in the boy's sloe-black eyes, giving an ugly
hint of the darker side of his character. When the anger faded an
unpleasant crafty look was left on his face.
"You can't believe all you hear, and not more than half you see," he
remarked. "Where's Nutmegs? I know him."
"There's no such person as 'Nutmegs,'" answered the girl tartly. "If
you mean my brother, Mark, he's in his laboratory down by the canal."
Perry stared a moment, then gave vent to an amused whistle.
"Laboratory, eh? Well, that's a good one, Susie. Where's the reformed
road-agent? Is he in the laboratory joint, too?"
"No, Welcome has gone into town, but I can call Mark if you----"
"No, don't call him, Susie," interrupted Perry. "I've got something to
tell you about Matt King. Say, I thought that would make you open your
eyes. I reckon you don't think much of Matt King, eh?"
Vivid color mantled the girl's cheeks.
"Matt is a chum of Mark's, and a good friend of mine," she answered,
"and everybody says he's the best all-around athlete in the high
school. Major Woolford has picked him to represent the athletic club in
the bicycle races with Prescott and----"
"King has got to make good at the try-out first," scowled Perry.
"He'll do that, all right," averred Susie. "I guess there's no doubt
about his being able to beat _you_."
"If what I've heard about him is true," continued Perry, "I reckon he
won't have anything to do with the try-out, or with the race, either."
Sudden interest flashed in Susie's face. "What have you heard?" she
demanded curiously.
So deeply concerned was she in this information about Matt King which
Perry professed to have acquired, that she stepped eagerly to the gate.
This was what Perry had been waiting for. Susie McReady had jarred his
vanity and his temper several times during their brief interview, and
it was his nature to try to "play even." His idea of squaring accounts
with the girl was directly in line with his low ideals and his insolent
nature.
Leaning forward quickly Perry flung one arm about the girl's neck.
"I reckon you'll know me after this," cried Perry, and attempted to
give the struggling girl a kiss.
Unseen by either of the two at the gate, a boy had glided noiselessly
toward them on a wheel. He came from the direction of town and, as he
crossed the bridge and saw Susie and Dace Perry, an inkling of the
situation at the gate darted through his mind, and caused him to put
more power into the pedals.
Suddenly the captain of the cross-country team was caught from behind
and hurled backward with such force that he measured his length on the
ground.
"Oh, Matt, Matt!" exclaimed Susie.
"What's the matter with you?" snarled Perry, quickly regaining his
feet. His face was black with rage and he stepped toward Matt with
doubled fists.
"I guess there's nothing much the matter with me," answered Matt
coolly, "but you're a good deal of a cur, Dace Perry."
"What do you mean by butting in here like that?" fumed Perry, anything
but logical now that anger had got the whip-hand of him.
"That's the way I was raised," answered Matt.
"I reckon the way you was raised gave somebody a lot of trouble,"
sneered Perry.
"Well, you can bet I'm going to give somebody a lot of trouble if Susie
is bothered any more."
"You're swaggering around with a chip on your shoulder all the time,
ain't you?"
"Not so you can notice it," laughed Matt, "but you'll always find a
chip on my shoulder when a fellow acts like you were doing just now."
"Oh, punk!" Dace Perry changed his mind about wanting to fight and
backed off down the road. "This isn't the end of our little ruction,
Matt King. I'll give you the double-cross yet, see if I don't!"
"So-long!" answered Matt.
Perry shook his fist, looked northward along the road in the evident
hope of locating some of his team, then turned disappointedly and
sprinted for the bridge.
"I was never so glad of anything in my life, Matt," breathed Susie, "as
to have you get here just when you did."
"I'm a little bit tickled myself, Susie," laughed Matt, picking up his
wheel and standing it alongside the fence, "but I guess Perry won't
trouble you any more."
"I hate him!" cried Susie, stamping her foot. "He's never been a friend
of Mark's, nor of yours, either, Matt."
"I guess Mark won't lose any sleep over that, and I know I won't."
"All the same, Matt, you'd better look out for him. A coward who fights
you behind your back is more to be feared than a braver enemy who faces
you in the open."
"That's a cinch. But let's forget Dace Perry for a while and think of
something more pleasant. Where's Chub, Susie?"
Before the girl could answer, a husky voice was wafted toward the two
from along the road.
"Oh, a bold, bad man was this desperado,
An' he blowed inter town like an ole tornado--
Ta-rooral--ooral--ay!"
Susie and Matt looked in the direction from which this burst of
melody--if such it could be called--proceeded. An old man with a wooden
leg was approaching, keeping the tempo of his song with jabs of the pin
that took the place of his right foot.
"Here's Welcome Perkins," said Matt, with a broad smile, leaning back
against the gate-post and fixing his eyes on the old man.
"He's been to town after something for Mark," returned Susie.
Welcome Perkins, otherwise Peg-leg Perkins, otherwise the "reformed
road-agent," always reminded Matt of a picture out of a comic
supplement. He was little, and wizened, and old--just how old no one
knew, but it was popularly supposed that he was somewhere around
seventy. He had a pair of the mildest washed-out blue eyes ever set in
a man's head, notwithstanding the fact that he was constantly asserting
that he had passed his early life as a "pirate of the plains"; and
displayed with pride an old, played-out six-shooter whose hand-grip was
covered with notches--notches that made Welcome sigh and grow pensive
every time he looked at them. Welcome averred that he was trying to
live down his lawless past, but that his roaring, rampant, untamed
disposition made the effort a struggle and a burden.
The old man wore a long and particularly vicious-looking mustache,
which he was constantly training upward at the ends in order to make it
even more desperate in appearance. His scanty gray locks were allowed
to grow long, and they were surmounted with an old sombrero, always
carefully whacked into the regulation Denver "poke." His ragged blue
shirt was drawn in at the waist with a U. S. Army belt, from which
depended a holster containing the notched and useless weapon already
mentioned. _Chaparrejos_, or "chaps," which, like their owner, had seen
better days--or worse and more lawless ones if Welcome's word was to be
taken--covered his left lower extremity and all that was left of his
right. The right leg of the chaps was cut away at the knee in order to
give freer play to the wooden pin.
Silas McReady, the father and sole remaining parent of Susie and Mark,
was a prospector, and constantly in the hills. Welcome was an old-time
friend of Silas, and for years had been fastened upon the McReady
household like a barnacle.
"Howdy, pard!" roared Welcome as he drew near the gate and reached out
his hand. "It's plumb good for a ole outlaw like me to grip a honest
pa'm. It helps to make me fergit what I was and to brace up an' be what
I ort. I'm a horrible example o' what happens to a man when he cuts
loose in his youth an' bloom an' terrorizes all outdoors--but I can't
begin to tell ye how pacifyin' to my reckless natur' is the grip of a
honest hand."
"Then give it a good grip, Welcome," grinned Matt. "I'd hate to have
you get turbulent and go on the war-path. If a man of your age----"
Welcome, still holding Matt's hand, allowed his eyes to wander along
the road to the northwest. Suddenly the weather-beaten, leathery face
grew stern and the faded eyes snapped.
"Scud for the house, you two!" yelled Welcome; "scud! Trouble's
a-tearin' down on us out o' the hills, an' here's whar Eagle-eye
Perkins, Pirate o' the Plains, gets busy!"
The old man threw himself on Matt and pushed him through the gate. In
his excitement, the strap that secured the wooden pin to Welcome's
stump of a leg, broken and mended times out of mind, gave way and
dropped Welcome into the yard behind Matt and Susie.
The eagle-eyed defender paid no attention to his fall, but as the gate
swung shut drew himself up against the palings and jerked his obsolete
weapon clear of the holster.
"Put your trust in Eagle-eye Perkins," he called valiantly to Matt and
Susie; "if them red demons get at ye they walks over me to do it!"