Chapter IV: The Kettle Continues to Boil

Both Matt and Carl were well skilled in the art of self-defense. Matt, perhaps, was a shade more adept in the use of his fists. Neither of the lads, however, had been looking for violence, and the sudden attack of Brady and the other man had taken them by surprise.

The two men had plenty of muscle, and Brady was desperately determined to secure the roll of papers. The very fact that he was using force to accomplish his designs proved that he was not entitled to the papers. For that reason, Matt was determined to keep them away from him at all costs.

"Hold the Dutchman, Pete!" puffed Brady, hanging to the collar of Matt's leather coat and trying to get one hand into the inside pocket.

"Quiet, Dutchy," threatened Pete, as he and Carl swung back and forth across the big shed. "I'll strangle ye if ye ain't peaceable. Ye ain't got no sense, roughin' things up like--wow!"

At that instant, Carl landed a telling blow on the point of Pete's chin. A bushel of shooting-stars must have danced in front of Pete's eyes, for the jolt hurled him backward and caused him to claw the air in an attempt to keep his balance. He was not more than an instant getting the whip-hand of himself, and when he came out of his brief daze he was as mad as a hornet.

"I'll kill ye for that!" he yelled, and picked up a heavy hammer that lay on the floor.

Pete was between Carl and the open end of the shed; he was likewise between Carl and Matt and Brady. The struggle had carried Pete and the Dutch boy down toward the middle of the balloon house.

Matt, out of the tails of his eyes, saw the dangerous position in which Pete's temper was placing Carl. The young motorist had been successfully fending off the attempt of Brady to get into his coat pocket; now, thinking Carl might need him, he undertook more aggressive measures.

An empty box, which had evidently been used as a seat, stood just within the big door. With a sudden lurch, Matt heaved himself against Brady and knocked him backward over the box.

As Brady felt himself falling, the instinct to save himself caused him to let go of Matt. The instant the young motorist found himself with the free use of his fists, he let drive at Brady and still further helped him over the box.

With a roar of anger, Brady doubled up on the floor. Matt whirled and darted for Pete, reaching that scoundrel just in time to catch the arm that was whirling the heavy hammer.

The hammer was wrenched away, and Matt cast it against the wall of the balloon house.

"Cut for it, Carl!" cried Matt. "Run for the road!"

"You bed my life!" wheezed Carl. "Dis blace don'd vas gedding fery comfordable."

Brady was picking himself up from the floor as the boys rushed past with Pete in hot pursuit.

"Get those papers!" yelled Brady.

"I'll git that Dutch kid if it costs me my life!" whooped Pete.

Brady rushed after Pete, and there was a chase across the marshy meadow toward the road.

Carl was chunky of build and not nearly so good in a sprint as was Matt. Matt was in the lead on the rush from the balloon house, but, anticipating that Carl might have further trouble with Pete, he slackened his pace.

It was well that he did so. Pete was steadily gaining on Carl and would undoubtedly have overtaken him had Matt not executed a quick move with an empty salt barrel that lay in the line of flight.

At the right moment, Matt rolled the salt barrel in front of the enraged Pete. Pete's shins slammed against it, then he dropped on it and plowed up the mucky soil with the top of his head.

So far as the set-to was concerned, it was settled right there, Brady being so far in the rear that the boys were able to clear the fence and get into the automobile before he could come anywhere near them. As a matter of fact, Brady gave up the fight as soon as he had witnessed Pete's mishap with the barrel.

As the two chums glided away toward the more thickly settled part of South Chicago, they could look back and see Brady assisting the disgruntled Pete to an erect position. The barrel had been smashed, and Brady was scraping the mud off Pete with one of the staves.

"How you like dot, hey?" gloried Carl, standing up in the automobile and shaking his fist. "You vill know pedder der next time dan to make some foolishness mit Modor Matt und his bard. Yah, yah, yah!"

Carl wanted to be as tantalizing as he could, but the automobile was getting too far away. Sinking down in the seat beside Matt, the Dutch boy chuckled blithely.

"Dis has peen a pooty fine leedle trip, Matt," he observed, "und has peen full oop mit oxcidement oof a nofel kindt, yah, so helup me. Dot's vat I like. I'll bed my life dose fellers t'ink dey vas fell on mit a brick house. Vat's der madder mit Prady, anyvays?"

"There's something queer about that air-ship affair," answered Matt, thoughtfully. "The two men who rode past us in that buggy said the pair in the car were thieves, but Brady didn't know anything about the Hawk's being stolen. Brady said, too, that there ought to have been three men in the car instead of two. The one who was missing may have been the driver. That would account for the poor work the other two were making with the engine."

"Ve can make some guesses," said Carl, shaking his head, "aber ve don'd know nodding. Dot roll oof bapers don'd pelong to Prady. Vell, oof dot's der gase, whose bapers vas dey?"

"That's a conundrum."

"Vill you dake dem py der bolice?"

"I've been thinking of that, and I believe I'll talk with Mr. Harkrider before I do anything more. He'll tell us just what to do, and I'm sure his advice will be good. You see, Carl, we're not entitled to the papers any more than Brady is, when you come to figure the thing down to a fine point. If the fellow who lost them out of the car turned up and claimed them, we'd have to give them to him."

Mr. Harkrider was superintendent for the Lestrange Manufacturing Company, the Eastern representatives of the Jarrot Automobile Company of St. Louis. Following the Borden cup race, in Kansas, Matt had entered the services of the Jarrot people, and they had sent him to Chicago to take part in the five-day race at the Coliseum. While waiting for the race to start, Matt and Carl had had the use of any machine they wanted in the Lestrange garage, so they had put in their time riding around the city and out into the suburbs. That is how they happened to be on the road beyond South Chicago at the time the Hawk was running away with the two aeronauts.

Unusual experiences always seemed to gravitate toward Matt, and this air-ship affair was one of the most novel that had ever come his way. What it was leading up to, he did not know, but it was evident there was a whole lot more to the matter than appeared on the surface.

After a quick and uneventful run into Chicago, Matt drove the automobile into the Lestrange garage and asked for Mr. Harkrider. To his disappointment, Mr. Harkrider had left for the day and would not return to the garage until the following morning.

"Well," said Matt, as he and Carl left the garage and proceeded toward their boarding house, "I guess the delay won't make much difference. I'll be busy with the race to-morrow, but you can take the papers, Carl, and do with them whatever Mr. Harkrider advises."

It was nearly supper time, and after the boys had had a wash, and a good meal, they went up to their room.

Close to eight o'clock, just as they were getting ready for bed, a rap fell on the door. Matt answered the summons and found a boy with a telegram.

The young motorist had been receiving a great many telegrams, since his Kansas victory, and supposed the message must be from some motor-car manufacturer who wanted to secure his services.

But he was destined to a surprise.

The telegram had been sent to the Lestrange garage, and by the foreman there forwarded to the boarding place.

"MATT KING, Care Lestrange Company, Chicago:

"Come immediately to twenty-one-naught-nine Hoyne Street, South
Chicago. Important matter relative to runaway air-ship. I will pay
your expenses.

"HAMILTON JERROLD."

"More aboudt dot air-ship pitzness," muttered Carl. "Who vas dot Jerrold feller?"

"He must be the man that Brady told us about," said Matt. "Jerrold seems to be a rival of Brady's, in this air-ship matter, and the message looks like a good clue. It won't do any harm to follow it up, anyhow."

"Dere iss somet'ing about dot vat I don'd like," demurred Carl. "I got some hunches dere iss underhandt vork afoot."

"I know there's underhand work going on," said Matt, "but we've been rung in on the deal and have got to see it through. I'm curious to learn more about the affair."

"Meppy dot same curiosidy vill make you some drouples," suggested Carl. "You can't haf dot, ven der racing iss on do-morrow."

"The Jarrot people have several good men in the five-day race, so it won't make much difference if I'm not one of the drivers. Anyhow, I don't intend to be all day in South Chicago."

"It don'd look righdt for you to go pack dere alone," grumbled Carl. "I vouldn't be easy a minid."

"I am not going alone," laughed Matt. "You're going along, Carl."

The Dutch boy brightened at once and had no more objections to offer.

"Ach, dot's tifferent! Ve vill shdart ad vonce. How ve go? On a pubble?"

"No, we'll take a railroad train. I don't want to go fooling with a car at this time of night."

"Is dere a train ve can ketch?"

"Lots of them. South Chicago is a suburb, and we can leave here every half hour. We ought to be back by midnight."

Without debating the matter further, the boys started forthwith.