A QUEER SITUATION.
Motor Matt was never long about making up his mind as to what he was
going to do. In the present instance an expedient flashed through his
brain which might, or might not, succeed.
The rope which had been used to hoist the aeroplane to the staging on
the pole was a long one. As Matt ran through the gate, he flung the
noose which he had tied in the rope over a hitching-post, and then
leaped across the road.
By that time the four horses had crossed the bridge and were thundering
on toward the front of the house. Matt, holding the rope firmly,
stretched it so as to bring it across directly in front of the leaders.
Clipperton, instantly divining Matt's plan, started toward him, with
the intention of helping him hang onto the end of the rope. But Matt
had other plans for him and Chub.
"Keep back, Clip!" he yelled. "When I make 'em slow down, you and Chub
grab the bits."
Just then the front wheels of the wagon separated from those in the
rear. The "reach" went on with the forward axle, and the back wheels
spun around, dashed across the road, and smashed into the fence. The
end of the "reach" had struck the ground with terrific force, and the
girl was dragged along with it.
Why didn't she let go? was the thought that plunged through Matt's
mind. The next moment he had no time to think or to do anything else
but give his attention to the work in hand.
There was a shock like an earthquake as the front horses of the team
hit the rope. Matt, clinging like grim death to the stout hemp, was
jerked into the air and hurled forward and inward. The pace of the
leaders was checked, and the wheel-horses tried to play leap-frog with
them, the result being that the whole team became entangled in the
harness.
Clip and Chub, throwing themselves at the heads of the leaders, grabbed
the bits. Before the rope was pulled from Matt's hands, the horses were
at a standstill.
As soon as Clip and Chub had the team in hand, Matt ran to the girl.
She was lying on the ground close to the end of the "reach" and an
exclamation escaped Matt's lips when he saw that she was tied to the
piece of timber that had connected the front wheels with those behind.
"Is she hurt?" called Clip.
"She must be," answered Matt. "I don't see how she could go through
what she has without being hurt--and badly hurt at that. She's
unconscious. Some one tied her to the wagon."
He went down on his knees, and, with his pocket-knife, severed the rope
that secured the girl to the "reach."
He was about to pick her up in his arms when a panting voice called out
to him:
"Leaf her alone! I will be taking care of her."
Matt straightened on his knees and looked at the speaker. The man
was a Mexican, and had a surly, ill-omened face. He was covered with
dust, and had evidently been racing after the team on foot. Behind him
another Mexican was coming.
The little girl was American--Matt could tell that by her looks. That
being the case, why was she with the two Mexicans? And why had she been
tied to the wagon?
"Does the team belong to you?" demanded Matt.
"Yas, he b'long to me. I left him by de store, an' he git scare' an'
make a run off. _Carramba_! He bust my wagon all up. I take care of de
girl, señor. She hurt, huh?"
The other Mexican, scarcely giving a look at the girl, passed on to the
horses and began to pound them with a stick that he was carrying. His
attack was so brutal that Clip grabbed the stick out of his hand, and
would have laid it over his back if Chub had not interfered.
"Cut it out, Clip," said Chub. "The greaser don't know any better.
About half o' these wood-haulers ain't any more'n half-baked."
"He'll have the team running again," scowled Clipperton. "He ought to
have some sense pounded into him."
Meanwhile, Matt, paying no heed to the other Mexican, had picked up
the little girl and was carrying her toward the gate. The Mexican ran
after him and grabbed his arm.
"You gif her to me!" he shouted.
"This is the most ungrateful outfit of greasers I ever met up with,"
cried Clip, hurrying toward the second man. "That'll do for you!" he
said angrily, catching the fellow by the collar and throwing him back.
The Mexican whirled, his little eyes glittering like a snake's. One
hand darted toward the breast of his coat.
"Look out Clip!" warned Chub. "He's going to pull a knife on you."
Clip still had the club he had taken from the Mexican's companion, and
he squared away threateningly. There was a scar in the shape of a cross
on the man's swarthy cheek, and it glowed redly with the anger that
filled him.
Before the clash could proceed any farther, a man came galloping up
on horseback. The boys recognized him at once as Mr. McKibben, the
sheriff. The Mexicans also seemed to recognize him, for the one by the
horses slunk in between the animals' heads, and the other at once lost
his truculent manner.
"What's going on here?" demanded McKibben, peering sharply at the
Mexican, and then swerving his gaze to Matt and the unconscious form in
his arms.
"The team ran away, Mr. McKibben," explained Matt, "and this girl was
tied to the 'reach.' It looks as though she was badly hurt. I want to
carry her into the house and this fellow was trying to take her away
from me."
"H'm!" muttered the sheriff, getting down from his horse, "it's a cinch
the girl don't belong to them." He stepped closer to the Mexican, his
eyes on the scar. "Where'd you get the girl?" he demanded, one hand
groping in his pocket.
"The _niño_?" returned the Mexican shiftily. "She b'long to a friend of
mine, señor. I take her to him. I no like to leave her here."
The sheriff's hand came out of his pocket with a rush, bringing a pair
of handcuffs along with it. In less time than it takes to tell it, one
of the cuffs was about the Mexican's right wrist, while the other was
snapped about McKibben's left.
The Mexican gave a backward jump, but the sheriff, with a pull of
the arm, drew him back with a jerk that almost lifted him off his
feet. Once more the Mexican's hand was plunged into the breast of his
coat. It was the left hand this time, however, and he was awkward in
using it. McKibben's fingers gripped the wrist of the hand as it was
withdrawn and shook a knife out of it.
"None of that, Juan Morisco!" growled McKibben. "You see, I know you.
I've had you watched ever since you reached town, so you'll just walk
along with me and not make any trouble about it."
There was a rattle of hoofs up the road.
"The other one's making a getaway, Mr. McKibben," sang out Chub
excitedly. "He took one of the horses and---- Holy smoke, watch him go!"
The sheriff turned and flashed a look after the retreating horseman.
"I can follow him," said Clip. "I'll use your horse."
"Let him go," answered McKibben. "He's only the wood-hauler. This is
the man I want. Take the girl into the house, King," he added. "You
might ride my horse to the corral, Clipperton, and get a doctor."
"Do you know anything about this girl?" asked Matt, looking down at
the head that was lying limply over his arm.
"Not a thing; but I'll bet money there's crooked work of some kind
going on. The girl didn't belong with these Mexicans."
"If they hadn't tied her to the wagon," said Matt, "she would have got
clear of that accident without being so badly hurt."
"We'll get Juan in the sweat-box and find out about it."
"What have you pinched the greaser for, Mr. McKibben?" asked Chub.
"Don't get so curious, McReady," parried the sheriff. "Hitch those
three horses to the fence, and I'll send some one after them and the
wreck of the wagon. Do what you can for the girl, King."
Clip got on the sheriff's animal and started for the bridge; Chub went
to the horses which, by that time, had quieted down, and started toward
the fence with them; McKibben took his prisoner toward town; and Matt
pushed on through the gate and into the house.
This was a mysterious affair from start to finish, and he was wondering
what would come of it.