Motor Matt's Reverse; or, Caught in a Losing Cause Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  THE NEW AEROPLANE.

  Motor Matt was as happy as the proverbial bee in clover--and fully asindustrious.

  A quarter of a mile below the post trader's store, on the Devil's LakeIndian Reservation, a tent, with its sides rolled up, was being usedas a workshop. Outside the tent there was a portable forge, anvil, andfull outfit of blacksmith's tools. Inside there was a bench with anironworker's vise, and also a carpenter's bench and well-equipped chest.

  For two weeks Matt had been laboring about Camp Traquair, as the littlerendezvous was called, assisted in his work by his cowboy chum, JoeMcGlory, and with the Chinese boy, Ping, in charge of the culinarydepartment.

  Immediately after Matt had finished the a?roplane trials, with so muchcredit to himself, an order had been given for a new a?roplane at thesame price the government had paid for the first one, providing onlythat it should be finished and tried out by the first of the month.This would enable the machine to be taken apart, crated, and forwardedto Fort Myer for a competitive test in an event that was to determinethe abilities of an a?roplane for signal corps' services, as againstother types of machines, such as dirigible balloons.

  Matt and his two friends had plunged zealously into the work. WhileMcGlory and Ping were erecting the work tent, and furnishing it withwood and iron-working tools, Matt had made a trip to Jamestown for atalk with Mrs. Traquair, and then to St. Paul after materials.

  The tough spruce needed for the wings, or "planes," every bolt, screwand wire guy, and the motor, Matt had secured in St. Paul. At a largecost for expressage these materials had been shipped direct to FortTotten and had arrived there on the same day that witnessed Matt'sreturn.

  Then began a season of feverish activity, during which LieutenantCameron and others from the post had watched the king of the motor boyswith wonder and admiration.

  That Motor Matt was possessed of mechanical skill the officers at thepost had long known, but that his genius in construction was fullyequal to his ability as an aviator became evident from day to day, andwas in the nature of a revelation.

  "You're the best all-around chap at this business I ever saw in mylife," Lieutenant Cameron had declared.

  Matt laughed.

  "Why, Cameron," he answered, "I used to work in a motor plant, inAlbany, New York."

  "That may be, Matt, but building a motor is a different propositionfrom building a flying machine."

  "Traquair laid down the plans. All I have to do is to follow them.It's really very simple. An a?roplane, you know, is nothing more thantwo oblong pieces of canvas, fastened together one above the other andpushed against the air by a motor and propeller. If the motor drivesthe wings fast enough, they're sure to stay up."

  But Cameron shook his head and continued to believe that Motor Matt wassomething of a phenomenon, whereas Matt knew that he had merely the"knack" for the work, just as he had acquired the "knack" for using thea?roplane in the first place.

  "The machine," he declared to Cameron, "is only a big toy."

  "Toy?" echoed Cameron. "It's more than that, Matt."

  "For the army and navy, yes. A?roplanes can be used for scoutingpurposes and for dropping bombs down on hostile armies and warships--providing they can keep clear of bullets and shells fired frombelow; but, even for such work, the a?roplane has its limitations."

  "The government," laughed Cameron, "is buying these Traquair a?roplanesin spite of their limitations."

  "Our war department," answered Matt, "has got to keep abreast of otherwar departments, and poor Traquair has given you fellows the besta?roplane so far invented."

  "Don't you think the Traquair machine will ever be used for commercialpurposes? Won't there be fleets of them carrying passengers andmerchandise between San Francisco and New York and making the trip atthe rate of sixty or one hundred miles an hour?"

  "That's a dream," averred Matt; "still," he added, "dreams sometimescome true. My old dirigible balloon, the _Hawk_, was a wonder. Shecould be sailed in a pretty stiff wind, and a fellow didn't have to usehis head and hands every blessed second to keep a sudden gust of airfrom turning his machine upside down. I traveled thousand of miles inthe _Hawk_, but there was always a certain amount of worry on accountof the gas. If anything happened to the silk envelope, no amount ofwork with your head and hands could keep you from a tumble."

  "Well, anyway, you're in love with air ships."

  "I'm in love with this," and Matt's gray eyes brightened as he touchedthe motor which he was at that moment installing in the new a?roplane,"and I'm in love with every novel use to which a motor can be put.Explosive engines will furnish the power for the future, and everynew way they're used helps that coming time along. But I'm giving alecture," he smiled, going back to his work, "and I couldn't tell youexactly how I feel on this gas-engine subject if I talked a thousandyears. The motors have got a strangle hold on me--they're keeping meout of college, keeping me from settling down, and filling my life withall sorts of adventures. But I can't help it. I'm under the spell ofthe gas engine, and that's all there is to it."

  It was during this talk of Matt's with Cameron, along toward the lastdays of the busy two weeks, that Ping came into Camp Traquair with adagger.

  "You savvy knife, Motol Matt?" asked Ping, offering the dagger forinspection.

  Matt dropped his wrench and took the weapon from the Chinaman.

  It was not more than seven inches in length from the end of the handleto the tip of the blade. The blade was badly rusted, and the handle wasincrusted with earth.

  "Where did you get this, Ping?" inquired Matt, beginning to clean thedagger with the edge of a file.

  "My makee find in woods. You savvy place Siwash cally Ping one pieceenight he fool with Flying Joss?"

  "Flying Joss" was Ping's name for the a?roplane. His heathen mindmade a joss of things he could not understand, and this machine ofTraquair's had impressed him more than anything else he had everencountered.

  "I remember," answered Matt. "Siwash Charley carried you off into thetimber, near the lake shore. You found the dagger there?"

  "All same."

  "Some Indian must have dropped it," put in Cameron. "From the way it'srusted, it looks as though the redskin must have dropped it a hundredyears ago."

  "Hardly as long ago as that," returned Matt. "It's a pretty dagger, asdaggers go, although I don't admire things of the kind. The blade isof mighty fine steel, and the handle is of sterling silver, set with aruby, or a piece of colored glass to represent a ruby, at the end. Andhere are some initials."

  A little scraping with the file had bared a flat plate in the handle.Matt studied the initials.

  "No," he remarked, "this couldn't have belonged to an Indian, Cameron.Redskins are not carrying silver, ruby-mounted daggers with initialsengraved on them."

  "Some red may have traded pelts for it," suggested the lieutenant.

  "Possibly."

  "What are the initials? Can you make them out?"

  "There are two letters, sort of twined together," answered Matt. "Imake them out to be 'G. F.,' although I----"

  An exclamation escaped Cameron.

  "Let me see it!" he cried, stepping forward and showing an astonishmentand eagerness which bewildered Motor Matt.

  For several minutes Cameron turned the blade around and around in hishands, staring in amazement and muttering to himself.

  "Will you let me have this for a little while, Matt?" asked thelieutenant when he had finished his examination. "This may be a mostremarkable find--remarkable as well as of tremendous importance. Ican't tell about that, though, till I have a talk with some of theothers at the post."

  "Of course you can take it," said Matt. "But what makes that rustypiece of steel so important?"

  "I'll tell you--later."

  Thereupon the lieutenant whirled in his tracks and made off at speed inthe direction of the post.

  McGlory had been under the a?roplane fitting in the pipe that led fromthe tank to the carburetor. H
e had overheard the talk, however, and hadcaught a glimpse of the dagger while the lieutenant was examining it.

  "Tell me about that!" he exclaimed, crawling out from under thea?roplane. "There was something about that rusty old knife that knockedCameron slabsided. What do you think it was?"

  "Give it up, Joe," answered Matt. "How much too long is that pipe?"

  In this offhand way Matt dismissed the dagger from his thoughts--butnot for long. An hour later, Cameron could be seen chasing down theroad from the post trader's, wildly excited.

  "I've got to talk with you, Matt," said he breathlessly, as he reachedthe side of the a?roplane. "You'll have to give me some of your time,and no two ways about it. There's a tragedy connected with thisknife--tragedy, and a whole lot of treachery. It's more than likely,too, that Siwash Charley is mixed up in the whirl of events that haveto do with the dagger. Come into the tent with me for a little while."

  Matt gave a regretful look at the motor. He would rather have kept busywith that than listen to the most absorbing yarn that was ever told.Nevertheless, there was no denying the lieutenant, and the king of themotor boys, accompanied by McGlory and Ping, followed Cameron into theshade of the tent.