Chapter XVI: A Desperate Risk

"Did you know, Motor Matt," asked the consul, by way of preface, "that Captain Nemo, Jr., right there in Belize, had been approached by an agent of the Japanese Government and offered two hundred thousand for something he's selling to our government for just half that?"

"No, sir," answered Matt. "But I know the captain well enough to feel sure that he wouldn't sell the _Grampus_ to any other country but the United States, not if he was offered a million. He has invented a submarine that is better than any other craft of its kind that was ever launched, and the captain is patriotic enough to want his own country to reap the benefit."

"Exactly. Captain Nemo, Jr., is a man after my own heart, by gad! Well, he refused the offer, and two days later he received a warning signed simply, 'The Sons of the Rising Sun,' saying that if he did not reconsider the _Grampus_ would be sunk in the bottom of the ocean. How was that for audacity? But the captain thought it was all bluff--the Japs have learned a lot from us, my lads, and bluff is not the least of their acquirements.

"The captain said nothing to you, Motor Matt, about this warning from the Sons of the Rising Sun. He treated it with silent contempt, well knowing that you would do everything possible to safeguard the submarine without any unnecessary talk from him.

"Now, from what you lads have told me, we must change our minds about that warning being a bluff. If it was a bluff, then the Japs are trying to make good. But the Japanese Government knows nothing about this. If the high boys among the Japs in Tokio knew, they would be the first ones to send a warship after these precious Sons of the Rising Sun. The Young Samurai are going it on their own hook; they're going to help their beloved country whether the country wants them to or not.

"The _Grampus_ is a good thing. The Japs are able to tell a good thing when they see it, and that's what makes the Sons of the Rising Sun so hungry either to buy the submarine or send her to the bottom in such a way that she can't come up. They're a lot of hotheads, that's what they are, and they don't care a picayune what happens to them just so they can get in some wild stroke that, in their overheated estimation, may benefit Nippon.

"I don't know as we can blame them. It hasn't been so mighty long since they broke through their chrysalis of heathendom, and they are drunk with their success in their late unpleasantness with Russia--Russia, a country that has been our firm friend ever since the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock.

"Well, you have faced desperate risks, and you may be compelled to face more. I wish I could assure you that there were no more troubles in sight, but the Japs are a persistent race, and whenever young firebrands like these Sons of the Rising Sun get started at anything they never know when to let go. But," and here the consul brought his fist emphatically down on the table, "I don't think you can possibly meet any greater dangers than you have already met and successfully passed through. Bearing that in mind, I'd be willing to bet every dollar I've got that Motor Matt will make good, and deliver this old catamaran at Mare Island, right-side-up with care, and everybody smiling--except, of course, the Sons of the Rising Sun. I'll back Young America against Young Japan any day. Catch my drift? That's about all. Come in and eat with me--we have to eat, you know, no matter how hot it is. After dinner we'll look after Mr. Tolo, and I'll give Matt a letter to an agent who will supply him with gasolene, or any other old thing that happens to be necessary in order to make a submarine go. There won't be any water in the gasolene, either. Come on, now, and let's try and be cheerful. Heaven knows you boys have got enough ahead of you to make your hair stand on end like quills on the fretful porcupine, but what we're not sure of hadn't ought to trouble us."

Matt and Glennie had a good dinner, and after it was over the consul went with them to the _Grampus_ and gave the craft a sizing. He was charmed with the boat, and all the useful odds and ends of machinery with which she was packed.

Following that, he went to the prison chamber and surveyed Tolo as he lay bound and helpless on the floor.

"You're a nice young patriot, I must say!" exclaimed the consul, as he looked down on the quiet, uncomplaining Japanese, "but you met more than your match when you went up against Motor Matt. Where are the rest of your rascally outfit?"

"I speak nothing, honorable sir," replied Tolo, "not because of any disrespect for you, but out of regard for my dear Nippon."

The consul stared, and then he groaned.

"High-handed outrage stalks the seas," he muttered, "and this poor fool calls it love of country! Well, well! I wonder what Commodore Perry would say if he could hear that? The Japs are our great and good friends, all right, but we don't count for much when there's a little thing like a patent boat on the programme. I'll take care of you, my lad," he added to Tolo. "You'll stay in Para until the first United States warship comes along, and then you'll travel to the States and give an account of yourself."

A few minutes later the consul left the boat, and, an hour after he was gone, police officers arrived and carried the misguided Tolo to the municipal bastile.

That was the last Matt and his friends ever saw of him.

Matt and Glennie refused a pressing invitation to stay all night at the consul's palatial home. They explained to him that, in view of the vague dangers threatening them and the _Grampus_, they felt as though they ought to stay with the boat.

Mr. Brigham commended their zeal, repeated his encouraging auguries for their ultimate success, and warned them again of dangers ahead.

"Desperate risks are what you're to take," said he. "It may be that you have clipped the claws of the dragon, and that nothing more will be heard of the Sons of the Rising Sun. That's the bright side of the picture, but please don't look at it. In a case of this kind it is better to expect the worst; then, if better things come to you, they will be in the nature of a happy surprise."

On the second day of their stay in Para Dick went ashore and got their supplies. It had been on the schedule that the _Grampus_ was to put in at Rio, but Mr. Brigham advised the boys to give that port a wide berth.

"Your itinerary," he explained, "is probably known to these hotheaded Japs. The way to fool them is by dodging the itinerary and putting in at the places where you are not expected."

"We'll have to stop somewhere before we round the Horn," said Matt; "and I believe we'll call at----"

"Don't tell me!" protested the consul. "Don't tell any one in Para, or even talk it over among yourselves until you are well away at sea. Then, when you speak the name of your next port of call, go down to the ocean bed and whisper it. Do you think I'm piling it on? Well, perhaps so, but I am only trying to let you understand how necessary it is to keep your own counsel. I'm mightily interested in you, and in your ultimate success, and what advice I give I give earnestly, and trust you will take it so. You'll get around the Horn, all right, and you'll get to Mare Island, and the _Grampus_ will become part and parcel of our country's navy, perhaps with Ensign Glennie in command. That's a cinch, my lads; but what you're to go through before you reach 'Frisco is a horse of another color. Don't be overconfident. Remember what I say, and keep your eyes on the dark side of the picture. Good-by, and luck go with you."

On the morning of the third day after their arrival at Para the _Grampus_ slipped down the river toward the open sea. She carried confident hearts and determined wills--and, in spite of the fact that all had their eyes on the "dark side of the picture," there was plenty of hope and also of good cheer in the stout steel hull of the submarine. For the king of the motor boys was in command. He had brought the _Grampus_ through many perils, and all had faith to believe that he could bring her through many more.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (19) WILL CONTAIN

Motor Matt's Defiance;

OR,

AROUND THE HORN.

Tell tale Sparks--Clipping the Dragon's-Claws--The Overturned
Boat--Gallant Work--The Five Chilians--Treachery--Turning the
Tables--The Man-of-war--Aboard the "Salvador"--The Tightening
Coil--Dick On His Mettle--Desperate Measures--A Dive for
Liberty--English Reach--Sandoval Explains--Northward Bound.

MOTOR STORIES

THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION

NEW YORK, June 26, 1909.

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IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.

Jim Dean's face looked ugly when the Portuguese, who was called Da Silva, deliberately thrust the muzzle of a revolver against his chest.

"You confounded disgrace! What are you going to do?" he inquired spitefully. "You putty-colored dago, do you think you can intimidate me with your theatrical performances? Man, I've looked inside more gun muzzles that you've ever heard of."

"This, then, is the last the senhor shall have the pleasure of examining," answered the Portuguese imperturbably. The insults he waved aside with his lemon-colored left hand, and he blew out between his lips a serene stream of cigarette smoke.

"The senhor is what you call a fire-eater, is it not? But even with a good appetite it is possible to eat too much. Is the senhor going to take his last meal?"

Da Silva talked leisurely as though he enjoyed the conversation. He looked carelessly around the trading office, where in orderly confusion lay books and papers containing records of many a cargo of cotton, palm oil, rubber, mahogany logs and the like from the opulent interior. For this, the highest trading station on the Bawa River, was the channel through which the produce of a vast savage country went to the coast, where cotton goods of pronounced colors went in exchange for lumps of wild rubber, and where square-face gin or various jimcracks bought so much oil or kernel.

Jim Dean managed this factory, from which he had to account to a board of directors in Liverpool for his doings, and for his profits and losses. Of late there had been losses, for from the wild interior had come tales of caravans attacked, of laden canoes cut off, of villages, where stores were accumulated, raided, with rumors and threats of worse things.

So far as he was personally concerned, this present incident was the apex of the unexpected. He was sitting in his office sweating at his books when three natives, coming in as he supposed on trading business, without ceremony, gripped him in their odorous arms, flung a grass rope about him, and trussed him up like a fowl ready for the roast.

A fourth man, Da Silva, had superintended the operation.

"I'd give six months' wages to have a quarter of an hour at handling you with bare fists," snapped Dean. "I should hate touching your hide with my fingers, but I'd do it like I might have to lift a bit of dirt out of my food."

"The senhor makes it no easier for himself," said the Portuguese with a show of teeth.

"You just put your gun away and give me my hands free and I'll show you something," returned Dean spitefully.

The patience of the dago man suddenly came to an end. He withdrew his eyes from sight of the brown river beyond the veranda, whither they had dreamily wandered, and suddenly set them viciously on the white man.

"I'm going to give you three minutes," he said. "If you are still acting the fool, then I shall shoot. You know what I want. Down river at the Bawa factory is a steamer just arrived from a British port. Among her cargo are a thousand rifles, with ammunition. For purposes of my own, not unconnected with my desire to be top dog in this portion of Africa, I want to get possession of those arms, and to do so I want to send such a message to the coast as will insure the steamer hurrying up the river with this part of her cargo aboard. Therefore, you will write on the company's note paper, in your own hand, something to the effect that the station is in the extremest danger, that the whole hinterland is risen, and that unless you have arms and ammunition in plenty sent you at once, the whole factory and those in it will be wiped out of existence. It's a million to one they'll send the steamer up, for it would be the quickest, and there's deep water all the way. Now, I'll dictate the exact words to you. You won't mind writing it, anyhow, because it's true."

"And when the ship comes up, what then?" asked Dean.

"I make arrangements to acquire the cargo on--well, on easy terms," answered the half-breed with a smile.

"All right, you disgrace of two continents, you do all the arranging. I'm not in it. You shoot, my friend."

It was quite true that Jim Dean had looked into death's face more times than once, but he had hardly been nearer making his exit than during the next five seconds; for Da Silva's revolver muzzle was pressed over his heart and an angry finger was on the trigger. Then the half-blood hesitated, not because he had either fear or scruples, but because Dean at the moment was worth more to him alive than dead. He had great ambitions, for the realization of which the cargo of arms was necessary, and he could think of no better way of obtaining them than by using Dean in the way he had indicated.

"On the whole, I think shooting would be too sudden," he said. "If you refuse to do as I say I will invent a method of putting you out of this world of misery that will give you the longest dose of pain that a human body can stand. Savvy?"

Jim Dean did understand. Da Silva had in the hinterland an unsavory reputation for a ferocity that, rumor said, stood at nothing, and he was credited with one or two dark doings in the back no-man's land that will not bear repeating.

He lighted another cigarette, and with malicious deliberation he detailed the manner in which he would inflict death on the other which had something with a slow fire in it and added refinements, and then he retired to make arrangements for the exit, as he termed it, leaving Dean under the guard of one negro.

These circumstances set Dean thinking furiously, and after a while he decided that though a death by torture might be picturesque, there would not be much common sense in submitting to it when there was a way out, which, though humiliating enough, might yet afford him another chance. With his life he might get the game into his own hands--with death was the end of the game.

"All right," he said. "You've got the bulge on me this time. Just free my hands, and I'll write what you say."

Da Silva dictated with his finger on the trigger of his weapon, and the muzzle of it somewhere between Dean's shoulder blades.

* * * * *

Macfarlane, manager of the coast factory on the Bawa River, ran across the strip of sun-scorched beach and tumbled into a dugout boat of cottonwood, and with a speed that indicated he was handling matters of great urgency, he pushed the boat out into the yellow stream and paddled for all he was worth toward the rusty tramp steamer which lay in mid-river. Lettering under her stern indicated the double fact that she was classically called the _Athena_, and that she hailed from Liverpool. An inspection of her decks would have shown that in the midday heat her crew were resting. The steam winch sizzled, the drip from a steam pipe falling on the hot iron deck almost dried before it touched the plates, the heat rose from the iron hull as from a stove; there was probably not a bearable spot in the ship.

Macfarlane came up the ladder in a hurry, and he mounted to the chart room on the little bridge deck with a speed that made some eyes open in surprise. Captain Bingham, who was reclining on a locker dressed in pajamas open at the chest, looked mild surprise at the agent's hurry, when the latter thrust into his hand a somewhat crumpled piece of paper and bade him read it.

"A nigger has just brought it," he said. "Dean, our man up the river, is in danger. In fact, you might say more. The whole back of the country is in danger. There's a rising in progress, and the first thing they'll attack is the upper factory, that being the sign and token of white aggression. Their cry is the black man's country for the black man, which may be all right, only we're white men, and we're here, and we want to keep on our trade. Now, I shouldn't be surprised if there isn't some one at the back of all this. There's a brainy, unscrupulous beggar called Da Silva, who's Portuguese. He's got some sort of a crack-brained notion of a black republic with himself as president, and incidentally owner of our factories and trading posts. He's been in the hinterland for the last six months to my knowledge, and up to no good, I'll stake my swizzle stick. If this trouble is Da Silva's palaver, you can bet it's going to be a jugful, and the thing in such a case, or any other like it, is to blow the froth off it early. Strike a blow at once. Here's Dean writing in a hurry saying that while he has men he's no arms worth reckoning, and that practically the fate of the whole colony depends on his having enough rifles and ammunition in his hands within twenty-four hours."

"You're making me hotter than I was," breathed the skipper of the _Athena_. "What do you want? I'm not an advice merchant."

"If you'll read what Dean's written you'll see he says that if I have any arms, the best way is to charter the best steam craft I can put hands on, put the stuff on it, and send her upstream. Now, there are a dozen cases of rifles in your hold, which were going into Portuguese territory. They haven't been unloaded yet, see?"

"I can see you are going to put me in for something that my owners don't reckon on," said Bingham with a laugh, opening the jacket of his pajamas, and throwing out his broad chest.

"I reckon your owners value the trade on this bit of coast," said Macfarlane dryly. "It means losing it all if Dean doesn't get his guns. And there's a twenty-foot channel all the way upstream."

"If we can keep in it--I know. This old craft is no mud plugger. Still, with more cargo out of her she'll swim a bit higher. I'll just rouse up that crew of mine. And you get your boats around sharp, because I'm going to make that cargo buck."

Thereafter came a continual roar for many hours of both fore and aft steam winches, and the way the cargo was vomited out of the _Athena's_ hold was a pretty good record for that river mouth.

Half an hour before sunset the _Athena's_ anchors broke mud, and with her plimsoll and the red streak of her watermark high up out of the brown wash, she started nosing her way up against the current. The night fell suddenly like the quick closing of shutters, and from the river and the dank vegetation on its banks rose the mist that spelled fever and sickness. There was a ladling out of quinine that night to all hands. Macfarlane took a double dose. This river with its sickening smell of crushed marigolds, where the mangroves threw hideous twisted roots into the slime, and noisome creatures sprawled in the gloom, had a breath of poison.

"I'm hanged if I don't think," said the agent, as he took his second dose of quinine wrapped in a cigarette paper, "that we'd be better off with Da Silva in possession and us at home. I'm homesick. And this is West Africa. My stars! listen to the splashing of that crocodile!"

The skipper swore softly when a little shiver went through the hull. "That's the bottom," he said. "That deep channel may be there, but it takes keeping in. Now, if you take my tip, you'll get those shooters of yours unpacked. Your man may want a few in a hurry. Gosh! there's the bottom again. It'll be no soft thing if we get stuck, either for us or your man." But they went up the waterway in safety till dawn came, when Captain Bingham breathed more freely.

"All the same, I'm not enjoying myself," he said. "The salt sea is a dashed sight more to my liking. How much further is it?"

"We shall strike it this evening," said Macfarlane. "If we had been crows we could have got there in one-third the distance. This river winds about some."

It was the long, roundabout journey that the vessel had to go which enabled the plotter, Da Silva, to get news of her approach, and of the success of his plans, for the native runner, who had in the first place conveyed the letter, forced from Dean, by way of direct forest paths, went back the same way, carrying promise of immediate assistance.

Therefore the half-blood went on with his arrangements. To begin with, he sent runners out to various villages both near and distant, whence fighting men could come. He sent word that for each man there would be a rifle and cartridges, and that the war to regain the black man's country for the black man was ripe to commence. And then he constructed a simple, unsuspicious arrangement for trapping the ship that was nosing her way up the river.

Four hundred yards down from the strip of sun-baked beach in front of the trading factory the river was divided by a lush, swampy island into two channels. The near one was the only practicable way, and this he carefully filled up by dropping a couple of giant cottonwoods from the bank into it. The parts of the trees above the water lopped off till their presence was inconspicuous, and so came about as he intended the catching of the _Athena_ like a jackal in a trap.

Going many miles at half speed, more miles at dead slow, the ocean tramp, making her uncertain way up this muddy channel into the heart of Africa, did not arrive within sight of her destination till close on midnight.

"We're close now," Macfarlane was saying. "Why not give a tootle on our siren just to buck up Dean, and give his enemies a shiver if they are near?"

Bingham got hold of the string, but with the first stabbing of the tropic night by the shrieking whistle there came a sudden shiver through the ship, a violent scraping, and a bumping on the plates below water. The siren stopped short, and the telegraph handle was suddenly dragged over to full speed astern while Captain Bingham said things. The propeller swirled up whirlpools of mud, and cast up enough crushed marigold smell to choke them; but the ship did not move, and Captain Bingham let his soul go out in bitterness.

"We've got to wait till daylight, anyhow," he said finally. "We're fast, and we can't do anything till we can see what's holding us."

Meanwhile things were happening ashore. For three days Jim Dean had sweated, a prisoner in his own office. He had seen little of Da Silva, one big negro, who smoked black cigars all day long, and wore a nautical cap, being his guard. The black seemed to possess the faculty of infinite wakefulness. If he ever slept he did not seem to. His eyes were always open, dreamily watching the smoke from his tobacco. Dean thought and thought, and produced nothing. The negro was twice his size, armed and wakeful. He, while not trussed up, had the area of his activity circumscribed by a thong fastened round his waist and made fast to the floor. The odds were too great for any effective dealing with the situation, until by accident he alighted on a small possibility of at least freeing himself. And with freedom of movement much was possible. He wriggled on the floor.

A prick in the calf of his leg betrayed the point of a nail sticking up in the floor. He altered his position so that he could get a bend of the thong against the nail point, and then he tried gently rubbing it, or rather letting the nail peck at the hide. There was not much strength in the nail, so that the operation had to be done with care; but it was done ultimately, and when there fell on Dean's surprised ears the fragmentary shriek of the steamer's siren he was both ready and able to go!

He fell on the negro as though a steel spring propelled him, and he bowled him over, and hammered the black head on the floor before the brain inside the woolly skull had awakened to what was happening. It was a thick skull, but the blow was in proportion, and the big body rolled over on the floor.

Possessing himself of the black's revolver, sheath knife, and belt, and the nautical cap to save his head from thorns, Dean slipped out from the veranda and down into the garden.

But this had not been done without some noise, and as Dean ran away toward the gate of the inclosure, he heard voices in the darkness, and cries of warning and alarm. The door of the inclosure was fast. Precious moments were wasted unbolting it. By the time he was fleeing across the strip of beach he knew he was pursued. He ran along the water's edge as far as he could till the thick brake of mangroves, which succeeded the beach, prevented him, for they grew right to the edge of the water, and the giant twisted roots snaked far out into the very slime of the river itself.

He struck into the thick mass of vegetation, away from the river, but keeping as near parallel to the bank as he could. Ropes of prickly creeper held him again and again. Boughs of sickly sweet blossoms dashed against his face, and to force his way through the tangled mass of greenery he had to slash out with his knife at almost every step. Then he made for the river bank again.

He could hear the pounding of the ship's propeller, and he rightly guessed she was struggling to get free from the trap that she had got into. He came out upon the river bank and picked his way through the sprawling roots of the mangroves. He sank knee-deep into the slime, then he made a plunge and bore out into the river. He could see the steamer scarce a hundred yards away, and he put his best work into his swimming, not the less because he knew there were crocodiles in the water.

He had not covered more than half the distance when he heard the sound of paddles no great way off. He looked over half a shoulder, and he saw a dug-out canoe shoot from the shore with half a dozen paddles at work. He swam till every muscle and sinew ached with the strain. He tore through the water, and grasped a rope that hung over the cathead of the _Athena_, thirty yards ahead of the pursuing canoe. He was over the edge of the forecastle just as the canoe came below. A moment later, with the water dripping from him, he had turned, and was firing at the black heads that sprang up above the cathead. A short spear plunged at his head, and stuck quivering into the forecastle planks; but two big splashes followed his shots, and there came a discordant chorus of yells from below, that a moment later was broken into by a deep-throated cry of inquiry from the bridge.

"You are trapped, that's all," answered Dean, taking aim at the retreating canoe.

"Gad, is that Jim Dean?" Macfarlane came running forward. "Have you had to swim for it at the finish? Are we too late with the arms?"

"No, you're just in time," said Dean, watching the effect of his shot, "that is, if you have some men who can use them."

"You said you'd got plenty."

"I'd better own up," said the young man, "although it hasn't a pleasant taste in my mouth. I wrote that letter at Da Silva's dictation with a pistol at my head. There was likewise a pleasant alternative of being spitted over a slow fire. He wants this cargo himself. Odds are on it that we shall get an attack before dawn."

"Then, by the great James, we'll have some handshakes ready for them," declared Captain Bingham. "Now, you just loosen out some of our cargo, Mr. Macfarlane."

* * * * *

The expected attack came about half an hour before dawn, when the white mists at the river edge were thickest. Half a dozen big canoes filled with men shot out from the banks. There were one or two firearms among them, but these were discharged at too great a range for savage marksmen, and they did no more than emphasize the alarm, though that was not needed, for watchful eyes had kept a careful lookout on the _Athena_ all night.

"They'll be monkeys, and a bit over, if they climb up here," observed Macfarlane; for the ship with no cargo in her stood high out of the water, but the attack had been arranged by a brain. The first canoe to reach the vessel's side wasted, for savages, little time in shouting and brandishing spears, but straightway made casts with looped lengths of grass rope, and before the defenders were quite up to the move half a dozen black bodies were swarming up toward the mizzen chains.

Shots accounted for three, but the other three got up to the rail, and it was an ugly fight before accounts were settled. Each canoe was supplied with these ropes, which were cast with amazing skill, and wherever there was the slightest hold or projection there was a rope quickly looped over, and a black body swarming up the next instant. Axes and cutting knives hacked at them, but many a savage got aboard, and there were gashes and spear thrusts in plenty among the crew of the _Athena_ when dawn broke.

The affair finished just as the sun slipped up over the trees, with the canoes, such as had men to propel them, paddling away to the shore, while two others drifted downstream, with only dead and wounded men in them. The daylight showed half a dozen blacks, either dead or badly wounded, on the ship's decks, and the second engineer lying on the fidley with a gashed head and wounded thigh.

"And there's ane de'il ah hae made prisoner after a vera bonny fecht," said the Scotch bosun. "Ah'm thinking he's no' a'together a nigger. The scoondrel's a bit tae yellow."

They found the dago, lying on the main deck, panting and furious, clothed only in a loin cloth, with half a dozen of his own grass ropes around him.

"Sae ye're the captain o' this dirty crood, air ye?" observed the bosun critically, as the half-blood lay there swathed in the grass rope.

"Mon, ye started something outside yere weight. But perhaps ye'll be useful. When we've had a bite o' something tae eat, we shall want a few hondy niggers tae chop awa' the trees we've rinned upon, and mebbe ye can whustle up a few."

But while they were snatching a hasty scrap of food, the prisoner, unwatched for a few minutes, managed to partly wriggle out of the rope, and to crawl toward an open sally port.

They heard him splash over the side, and a moment later, as they saw him swimming, in spite of rope-encumbered legs, he was seen to suddenly turn over in the water and to cast a look of fear back at them. The next moment he gave a shriek, and sank from sight. A little eddy in the brown water showed only for a moment where he had disappeared.

"A crocodile," said Dean with a shudder. "And I swam over there myself last night. Poor beggar. When you're ready I should like to go ashore. I expect my office will be a bit upset."

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6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On The High Gear.

7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.

8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward.

9--Motor Matt's Air-Ship; or, The Rival Inventors.

10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot.

11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady.

12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Castaway in the Bahamas.

13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.

14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the _Hawk_.

15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the _Grampus_.

16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.

17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.

18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.

19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.

20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.

TIP TOP WEEKLY

The most popular publication for boys. The adventures of Frank and Dick Merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two pages. Price, 5 cents.=

681--Frank Merriwell's Patience; or, The Making of a Pitcher.

682--Frank Merriwell's Pupil; or, The Boy with the Wizard Wing.

683--Frank Merriwell's Fighters; or, The Decisive Battle with
Blackstone.

684--Dick Merriwell at the "Meet"; or, Honors Worth Winning.

685--Dick Merriwell's Protest; or, The Man Who Would Not Play Clean.

686--Dick Merriwell In The Marathon; or, The Sensation of the Great
Run.

687--Dick Merriwell's Colors; or, All For the Blue.

688--Dick Merriwell, Driver; or, The Race for the Daremore Cup.

689--Dick Merriwell on the Deep; or, The Cruise of the _Yale_.

690--Dick Merriwell in the North Woods; or, The Timber Thieves of the
Floodwood.

691--Dick Merriwell's Dandies; or, A Surprise for the Cowboy Nine.

692--Dick Merriwell's "Skyscooter"; or, Professor Pagan and the
"Princess."

693--Dick Merriwell in the Elk Mountains; or, The Search for "Dead
Injun" Mine.

_For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

=IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS= of our Weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. Fill out the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the Weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.=

________________________ _190_

_STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City._

_Dear Sirs: Enclosed please find_ ___________________________
_cents for which send me_:

TIP TOP WEEKLY, Nos. ________________________________

NICK CARTER WEEKLY, " ________________________________

DIAMOND DICK WEEKLY, " ________________________________

BUFFALO BILL STORIES, " ________________________________

BRAVE AND BOLD WEEKLY, " ________________________________

MOTOR STORIES, " ________________________________

_Name_ ________________ _Street_ ________________

_City_ ________________ _State_ ________________

A GREAT SUCCESS!!

MOTOR STORIES

Every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of Motor Matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. Surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the Tip Top Weekly.

Matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them.

_HERE ARE THE TITLES NOW READY AND THOSE TO BE PUBLISHED_:

1--Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.

2--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.

3--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier.

4--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet."

5--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot.

6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear.

7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.

8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward.

9--Motor Matt's Air Ship; or, The Rival Inventors.

10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot.

11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady.

12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas.

13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.

14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the "Hawk."

15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the "Grampus."

16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.

To be Published on June 14th.

17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.

To be Published on June 21st.

18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.

To be Published on June 28th.

19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.

To be Published on July 5th.

20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.

PRICE, FIVE CENTS

At all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price.

STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, NEW YORK

Transcriber's Notes:

Added table of contents.

Italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=.

Retained some inconsistent hyphenation from the original ("dugout" vs. "dug-out").

Page 1, expanded oe ligature in "manoeuvre" to oe; ligature retained in HTML edition.

Page 2, removed unnecessary quote before "The ready."

Page 3, "Curaçoa" is probably a typo for "Curaçao" but has been retained in case it is an archaic spelling.

Page 11, corrected typo "hapened" in "anything happened to the submarine."

Page 21, corrected typo "Ferrall" in "I can spell you, or Mr. Ferral."

Page 22, corrected "let go of Dick" to "let go of Matt."

End of Project Gutenberg's Motor Matt In Brazil, by Stanley R. Matthews