Motor Matt's Make-and-Break; or, Advancing the Spark of Friendship Read online

  CHAPTER VII.

  THE MAN HUNTERS.

  Motor Matt was not anticipating any serious trouble with the cowboys.The worst that could possibly happen, he believed, was a slight delaywhile the curiosity of the horsemen regarding the a?roplane wassatisfied.

  Armed cattlemen are proverbially reckless. A refusal to alight wouldcertainly have made the _Comet_ a target for half a dozen guns, and itwas a foregone conclusion that not all the bullets would have gone wild.

  The cowboys, of course, knew nothing about a?roplanes. They wanted Mattto come down, no matter whether the landing was made in a spot fromwhich the a?roplane could take a fresh start, or in a place where astart would be impossible.

  The hill on which the horsemen were posted was a high one, and hadsmooth, treeless slopes on all sides. It was, in fact, a veritableturf-covered coteau.

  Matt was planning to alight on the very crest of the hill. When he andhis pards were ready to take wing again, he thought they could dashdown the hill slope, and be in the air before the foot of the hill wasreached.

  The horses of the men below were frightened by the a?roplane, and beganto kick and plunge. The trained riders, however, held them steady withone hand while gripping rifles with the other.

  The flying machine circled obediently in answer to her steeringapparatus, and landed on the crest of the hill with hardly a jar. Asthe craft rested there, the boys got out to stretch their cramped legsand inquire what the cowboys wanted. The latter had spurred theirrestive animals close, and were grouped in a circle about the _Comet_.

  "Well, I'll be gosh-hanged!" muttered one, staring at the machine withjaws agape.

  "Me, too!" murmured another. "Gee, man, but this here's hard terbelieve."

  "Hustlin' around through the air," put in another, "same as I goslashin' over the range on a bronk."

  The fourth man gave less heed to his amazement than he did to thebusiness immediately in hand.

  "Ain't either one o' 'em George Hobbes?" he averred, looking Matt,McGlory, and Ping over with some disappointment.

  That name, falling from the cowboy's lips, caused Matt and McGlory toexchange wondering glances.

  "What did you stop us for?" asked Matt.

  "Me an' Slim, thar, thought ye mout hev Hobbes aboard thatthing-um-bob," went on the last speaker. "We're from the Tin Cup Ranch,us fellers are. I'm Jed Spearman, the foreman. Whar d'ye hail from?"

  "From Fort Totten."

  "When d'ye leave thar?"

  "About two hours ago."

  "Come off! Toten's a good hunnerd an' twenty miles from here."

  "Well," laughed Matt, "we can travel sixty miles an hour, when we letourselves out, and bad roads can't stop us. But tell us about this man,Hobbes. Who is he?"

  "He's a tinhorn, that's what. He blowed inter the Tin Cup bunkhouse,last night, an' cleaned us all out in a leetle game o' one-call-two."

  "If you're foolish enough to gamble," said Matt, "you ought to have thenerve to take the consequences."

  "Gad-hook it all," spoke up the man referred to as "Slim," "I ain'tputtin' up no holler when I loses fair, but this Hobbes person is thatrank with his cold decks, his table hold outs, an' his extra aces, thatI blushes ter think o' how we was all roped in."

  "He cheated you?"

  "Cheat?" echoed Jed Spearman, "waal, no. From the way we sized it upwhen we got tergether this mornin', it was jest plain rob'ry. Hobbesheaded this way, an' we slid inter our saddles an' follered. But we'velost the trail, an' was jest communin' with ourselves ter find out whatjump ter make next, when this thing"--he waved his hand toward thea?roplane--"swung inter sight agin' the sky. We seen you three aboardthe thing, an' got the fool notion that mebby Hebbes was one o' ye."

  "Didn't you find out last night that you had been cheated?" asked Matt.

  "Nary. If we had, pilgrim, ye kin gamble a stack we'd have took arterthis Hobbes person right then. It was only this mornin' when Slimdiskivered the deck o' keerds belongin' ter the feller, which same hehad left behind most unaccountable, that we sensed how bad we'd beendone. The' was an extry set o' aces with that pack, the backs was allreaders, an' the hull lay-out was that peculiar we wasn't more'n abrace o' shakes makin' up our minds what ter do."

  "What sort of a looking man was this Hobbes?"

  "Dead ringer fer a cattleman, neighbor. Blue eyes, well set up, an'youngish."

  Matt was surprised. He was expecting to receive a description ofMurgatroyd, but the specifications did not fit the broker. Murgatroydwas a large, lean man with black, gimlet-like eyes.

  "What's yer bizness in these parts?" demanded Jed Spearman. "Jesttakin' a leetle fly fer the fun o' the thing?"

  "Well," answered Matt, "not exactly."

  "Ain't in no rush, are ye?"

  "Yes. Now that you know the man Hobbes isn't with us, we'll get aboardand resume our flight."

  Matt stepped toward the a?roplane, with the intention of taking hisplace at the driving levers. But Jed Spearman stayed him with a grip ofthe arm.

  "I got er notion," said Jed, "that I'd like ter take a ride in thatthing myself." The other cowboys gave a roar of wild appreciation andapproval. "Ye say ye kin do sixty miles an hour," proceeded Jed. "I'mgoin' back ter the Tin Cup Ranch ter see if the other party that wentout arter Hobbes had any success. It's thirty miles ter the Tin Cup,an' ye ort ter git me thar an' back inside o' an hour--onless ye wasputtin' up a summer breeze when ye told how fast this here dufunnymachine could travel. Hey? How does it hit ye?"

  Motor Matt was taken all aback. An hour's delay might spell ruin so faras meeting Newt Prebbles at the mouth of Burnt Creek was concerned.

  "We're in too much of a hurry," said Matt, "and we can't spare thetime. I'd like to oblige you, Spearman, but it's out of the question."

  "No more it ain't out o' the question," growled Spearman. "I'm pinin'ter take a ride in that thar machine, an' ye kin help us in our huntfer Hobbes if ye'll only take me back ter the ranch. I reckon yorebizness ain't any more important than what ours is."

  "Make him take ye, Jed!" howled the other punchers. "If he won't, we'llmake kindlin' wood out er the ole buzzard."

  The temper of the cowboys was such that Matt was in a quandary. Whilehe was turning the situation over in his mind, McGlory stepped forwardand took part in the talk.

  "Say, you," he cried angrily, "what you putting up this kind of a dealon us for? You can't make us toe the mark by putting the bud to us, andif you try it, we'll pull till the latigoes snap."

  "Don't git sassy," said Jed, in a patronizing tone. "We're too many ferye, kid. Ridin' in that thing'll be more fun fer me than a three-ringcircus, say nothin' o' the help it'll be fer us ter find out whetherthe other bunch o' man hunters struck 'signs' er not. Step back, an'sing small. Here, Slim, you take charge o' my hoss."

  The foreman passed his bridle reins to Slim, dismounted, and laid hisgun on the ground.

  "We'll have to wait here till ye git back, won't we?" asked Slim.

  "Sure," replied Jed. "We've lost the trail, an' thar ain't no manner o'use ter keep on ontil we find out somethin'."

  "Then I'm goin' ter git down," said Slim. "We kin bunch up the crittersan' smoke a little."

  McGlory's temper was rapidly growing. The cool way in which JedSpearman was planning to appropriate the _Comet_ was more than McGlorycould stand.

  "You're a lot of tinhorns!" he cried. "This lad here," he waved hishand toward the king of the motor boys, "is Motor Matt, and he's makingthis flight on government business, mainly. You keep hands off, oryou'll get into trouble."

  "That's me!" whooped Spearman. "Trouble! I live on _that_. Get readythat flyin' machine, kase I'm hungry ter do my sixty miles an hour onthe way back ter headquarters."

  An idea suddenly popped into McGlory's head.

  "This way, Matt," said he, stepping off to one side and beckoning Mattto follow.

  The cowboys were a little suspicious, but their curiosity prompted themto inspect the _Comet_ and leave Matt and McGlory to their own dev
ices.

  "What do you think, pard?" asked McGlory, when he and Matt were bythemselves.

  "I think it won't do to have any delay," replied Matt, "but Idon't just see how we're going to avoid it. If it wasn't for thoserifles----" He cast a look at the cowboys and shrugged his shoulders.

  "I've got a notion we can fool the punchers," said McGlory, "but Pingand I will have to be left behind, if we do it. You'll be going italone, from here on. Think you can manage it?"

  "I'll try anything," answered Matt. "All I want is to get away.Who this gambler the cowboys call George Hobbes is, I haven't theleast idea. Their description of the fellow doesn't tally with thedescription of Murgatroyd, and the whole affair is beginning to have aqueer look. I don't think there's any time to be lost."

  "No more there isn't," replied McGlory. "Ping and I can wander on tothe mouth of Burnt Creek on foot as soon as we can shake the punchers,and you can look for us there. What I'm plannin' is this."

  Thereupon McGlory hastily sketched his swiftly formed plan. It hadrather a venturesome look, to Matt, and might, or might not, win out.There was nothing to do, however, but to try it.

  "What you shorthorns gassin' about?" yelled Jed Spearman. "I'm allready ter fly, an' time's skurse."

  Matt and McGlory, having finished their brief talk, walked back to thecowboys.