Chapter VI: A New Venture

"That old persimmon is about ripe enough to be picked," growled McGlory, as he and Matt climbed the stairs on their way back to their room. "He's one of those cold game gents that gets quick and deadly every time a fellow looks at him cross-eyed. The next time he and I come together there's going to be fireworks."

"The chances are," said Matt, "we've seen the last of him. We'll close up our business with Mrs. Traquair at three o'clock, and then we'll catch the first train for Totten. That will finish our dealings with Siwash Charley, and with Murgatroyd, too, I hope. There's a lot of work ahead of us during the next two weeks, and we'll----"

Matt and McGlory were just turning from the hall into their room. Some one had arrived in the room during their absence. As fate would have it, it was Ping.

The Chinaman sat in a rocking-chair near the window. He was nervous and uncomfortable, not so much because of his recent experience with the bear, perhaps, as because he feared the sort of reception he was to receive from Motor Matt.

"Well, if it ain't Little Bright-eyes himself!" grinned McGlory. "You're more kinds of a surprise party, Ping, than I know how to describe. What did you set off that cannon cracker under the bear for?"

"My no shootee fi'clackel," expostulated Ping. "Melican boy shootee. Beal make one piecee mistake--chasee Ping, no chasee Melican boy. Whoosh! No likee."

"Where did you come from, Ping?" asked Matt.

"Mad'son. My no workee fo' anybody but Motol Matt. Tlakee tlain, come 'long."

"You didn't intend to stay in Madison any of the time, did you?"

Ping shook his head.

"Why didn't you tell me you were not going to stay there?"

"Plaps, my tellee, you no likee. My makee wait till come to Jimtown, then tellee. You no likee, no can send back."

A crafty grin worked its way over Ping's yellow face.

"You can't shake him, pard," laughed McGlory.

"How did you know where we were coming?" asked Matt.

"No savvy the pidgin. Come on same tlain."

"Then you got here on the same train we did?"

"Sure."

"Where have you been keeping yourself?"

"My stay by othel hotel. Bumby, thisee molnin', makee sneak fo' Gla'stone House. Watchee beal, then fi'clackel makee go bang. China boy lun allee same Sam Hill. Teleglaph pole him heap slick. Makee climb, makee slide down, thlee time. Beal ketchee one shoe, ketchee othel shoe, mebbyso ketchee China boy neck, sendee top side, but fo' Motol Matt. Whoosh! You heap mad with Ping?"

"What's the use of getting mad at you, Ping?" smiled Matt.

The little Chinaman bounded joyfully out of his chair.

"My workee for you some mo'?" he asked.

"You seem bound to work for me, whether I've got anything for you to do, or not."

"My no havee luck 'less my workee fo' you. Plenty queer pidgin. One piecee luck come plenty time when my stay 'lound Motol Matt; no gettee luck when my no stay. What you do now, huh?"

"We're going to hit the clouds on two canvas wings, Ping," said McGlory.

"No savvy," returned Ping.

"Matt's going to fly. Savvy fly? All same bird," and the cowboy flapped the edges of his coat, and lifted himself on one foot.

"My no makee good bird," said Ping, the white running into the yellow of his face. "My makee fall, bleakee neck."

"You'll wish you'd stayed in Madison, Ping, before you get through with this bag of tricks," went on McGlory, winking at Matt. "We're going to let you----"

The cowboy was intending to have a little fun with Ping, but, at that moment, a boy from the office appeared in the doorway.

"Mrs. Traquair is waiting for you down in the office, Motor Matt," he announced.

"It's three o'clock!" exclaimed Matt. "Get your two hundred and fifty, Joe, and come with me."

"I've got it, pard, right in my jeans," answered McGlory.

"You can stay here, Ping, till we come back," went on Matt to the Chinaman.

"Can do," chirped Ping.

Thereupon Matt and McGlory went downstairs, and the king of the motor boys introduced his friend to Mrs. Traquair. The clerk directed them to a lawyer, and they were soon in the lawyer's office, stating their business.

Mrs. Traquair had brought her husband's papers along with her, and also a duplicate of the mortgage on the Wells County homestead.

The lawyer's name was Matthews, and he was no friend of Murgatroyd.

"Murg's a skinner," observed Matthews, "everybody in these parts knows him for that. I'll bet he's been planning all along to get his clutches on this invention of your husband's, Mrs. Traquair. Motor Matt is doing the handsome thing by you, I must say. He takes all the risk, spends all his time and money, and then gets nothing if the try-out at Fort Totten isn't a success. Just sit down, please. I'll not be more than five minutes drawing up a memorandum of agreement."

When the paper had been drawn up, signed, and witnessed, and the money turned over, the only thing that remained was for Mrs. Traquair to give the boys an order on Benner, the post trader at Fort Totten, for the aëroplane. This second paper having been written out and signed, and the five hundred dollars turned over, Matt and McGlory found themselves embarked on a new venture.

It was different from anything Matt had yet undertaken. Driving a dirigible balloon was utterly unlike manoeuvring an aëroplane. In a "dirigible" one had only to sit calmly in the driver's seat, keep the motor going, and attend to the steering. In an aëroplane, on the other hand, there was a certain knack to be acquired. Air pressure under the wings was never the same for two consecutive moments, and if the swiftly changing centre of air pressure was not met instantly by extending or contracting the wings, disaster would be sure to result. But Matt had studied the subject, felt sure that he could acquire the necessary knack, and was determined to carry the venture through to a success.

"You're a plucky young man," said Matthews to the king of the motor boys when the business had been finally wound up, "but I want to warn you to look out for Murgatroyd. It does me good to hear how you sailed into him, but that was something Murg will never forget. As matters are now, you've beaten him, but he'll never let it rest at that. He'll move heaven and earth to get even with you. Keep your eyes skinned, that's all. You're engaged in a worthy work, and I believe you'll succeed, but you've got to be wary. I'm going with Mrs. Traquair to pay this interest. Murg won't attempt any bulldozing tactics while I'm around, you can depend on that."

"You might see that he doesn't persecute Mrs. Traquair while we're at Fort Totten, Mr. Matthews," said Matt. "If he gets his interest, he can't make her any trouble, can he?"

"He can't make her any more trouble until next year, when the interest and principal both become due. Long before that, I hope Mrs. Traquair will be able to settle up with Murgatroyd in full. She can, too, if your work at Totten is successful."

"How much do I owe you for drawing up these papers?" Matt asked.

"Not a red!" was the prompt response. "Do you think I don't know what you are trying to do for Mrs. Traquair? And do you think I won't do as much as I can to help her? Why, I got Harry Traquair's patents through for him, and I'm proud to say that he was my friend. He knew Murgatroyd was a skinner, just as well as I did, and at the time of his death he was exhausting every effort to fit himself for making a 'go' of that deal at Totten. He was planning on using that money to get himself out of Murgatroyd's strangling grip. It looks like a special favor of Providence, Motor Matt, that you happened along here just when you did."

Reference to her husband brought tears into Mrs. Traquair's eyes. Stepping to Matt impulsively, she caught one of his hands.

"I appreciate what you are doing, Motor Matt," said she in a low tone, "and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know the risks you are running, but somehow I have the utmost confidence that you are going to pass safely through them all, and please the officers at Fort Totten."

Matt was touched by the poor woman's gratitude. He pressed her hand cordially and reassuringly.

"I've gone into this thing to succeed, Mrs. Traquair," he answered, "and you may count on me to do my best."

"When do you go North?" asked the lawyer.

"We can't go before morning. The afternoon passenger has left, and we'll have to take the 'accommodation' at eight o'clock."

"Well, good-by, and good luck. If I can ever do anything for you here, in a legal way, don't hesitate to call on me."

Matthews gripped the young motorist's hand heartily, and the little party separated, the lawyer and Mrs. Traquair starting for Murgatroyd's office, while Matt and McGlory made their way back to the Gladstone House.

"Little as I know about flyin'," remarked McGlory, "and scary as I am about letting you go up in that aëroplane of Traquair's, just the same I feel like patting myself on the back. It's a brand-new venture, pard, but it's a good one. There's something in it, you see, besides just helping ourselves."

"It's not going to be easy," remarked Matt.

"That's you! Sure, it ain't going to be easy, hitting up a cloud trail and sliding around through the air in a machine that's----"

"I don't mean that," interrupted Matt. "During the last hour or so I've had a hunch that Murgatroyd is going to get busy."

"I'll take care of that old hardshell," declared the cowboy, with confidence, "if you do the rest of the work with that sky-scraper. That's what I'm along for, savvy?"