Chapter XIV: The Oak Opening

Reid's Lake was a popular resort, and a large crowd rendezvoused there on Sundays and holidays. The coming of the crowd, however, had shifted to the beginning of the day, so that the start of the aëroplane might be witnessed.

Owing to Burton's enterprise, an "extra" of one of the evening dailies was on the Grand Rapids streets at nine in the evening, announcing, in large type, that Boss Burton, regretting the disappointment caused the Grand Rapids people because of the failure of the aëroplane ascensions on the first day of the show, was glad to announce that the king of the motor boys would take his famous machine aloft on the following morning at nine o'clock.

This was one of the little things Burton could do, on occasion, which jarred on Matt's nerves. He made it appear in the news columns as though Matt was making the ascension because Burton had so willed it, and as though the showman had willed it because of the disappointment which had been caused the Great Rapids people on the first day of the show.

When Matt discovered this, it was too late to remedy it. He had the satisfaction, however, of telling Burton just what he thought.

Extra cars were put on the run between town and the lake to accommodate the crowds. And the people came not only in the street cars, but also in carriages, wagons, and automobiles.

Carl and Ping had slept under the lower wings of the _Comet_, as was their usual custom when the weather was at all propitious, and to the casual observer it would have looked as though the Roman-candle incident had been entirely forgotten.

Matt was early at the machine, looking it over carefully and making sure that everything was in readiness. The _Comet_, he found, had never been in better trim for work than she was that morning.

Then, too, such a day for aëroplane flying could not have been surpassed. There was not enough wind stirring to flutter the banners on the tent tops.

It was necessary for McGlory, Twomley, and Burton to get away somewhat in advance of Matt, and to take up a position beyond the outskirts of the city on the Elgin road. At sharp eight-forty-five the motor car got away.

McGlory was usually in charge of the start during the aëroplane flights, but now Matt placed Carl in command. The importance of the position filled Carl with glory, and was correspondingly depressing to Ping, who really knew more about the aëroplane than Carl could have learned in a hundred years.

Carl and Ping were assisted by half a dozen stout canvasmen.

Before Matt took his seat, to the wonder of the crowd pressing against the guard ropes, he shook out a white robe and arranged it about him in such a manner as to leave his arms perfectly clear, but covering every part of his clothing.

After that he stepped on the footboard and dropped down in front of the motor.

The canvasmen, divided by Carl into two groups of three each, were placed behind the wings.

"All ready, Carl!" called Matt.

"Retty it iss!" shouted Carl.

The motor started merrily, the bicycle wheels began to turn, and the canvasmen to push.

Slowly the _Comet_ gathered headway. Faster and faster it went, leaving the canvasmen behind; then, like a great bird, it soared into the air, followed by wild cheering.

A vagrant puff of wind struck the planes, just over the concert garden, and only quick work on the part of the intrepid young motorist averted a disaster. Gathering headway under the impetus of the thrashing propeller, the aëroplane darted upward into the blue and began reaching out toward the city.

Matt, while manipulating the aëroplane, had little time for sights and scenes below him. He was obliged to keep every faculty riveted on his work. Now and again, however, as he took his bearings and laid his course, he glimpsed the staring people in the roadways and on rooftops. Some of these spectators had opera glasses and binoculars.

Over the flat roofs of the city he whirled, cheered almost continuously.

The motor had never worked better. Everything depended on the motor. If the power had happened to fail, Matt could have glided harmlessly down the airy slope to earth--providing the city afforded him a good clear space in which to alight. A street zigzagged with telegraph, and telephone, and electric light wires was not such a place.

Passing the close-packed buildings of the business section, Matt gained the residence districts, and held on in a straight line for the Elgin road. He watched his landmarks, and, while they looked differently to him from aloft than they did from the ground, he knew he was going right when he saw the waiting automobile.

McGlory was standing up and waving his hat.

Throwing full speed into the propeller, Matt set the automobile a fifty-mile pace. At such a speed only a few minutes were necessary to carry the flying machine close to the oak opening where Ben Ali was to be in waiting for Dhondaram.

Peering forward and downward, Matt guided and manoeuvred the _Comet_ by sense of touch alone, watching eagerly the while for the great gap in the woods.

Finally he saw it, and what he glimpsed in the centre of the cleared space--etched into his brain as by the instantaneous operation of a photographic lens--was startling, to say the least.

The irregular circle of the opening was crossed through its centre by the hard, level road. Off to one side of the road were the dying embers of a fire, and near the fire lay a bundle, on which a young woman was sitting, her head bowed dejectedly. A turbaned figure stood at a distance from the girl--the figure covered with a red robe and its brown, staring face uplifted. This was Ben Ali. And the girl--who was she? Was it possible, _could_ it be possible, that the girl was Margaret Manners? A wild hope leaped in Motor Matt's breast.

Ben Ali leaned on a club, leaned and watched with never a move toward running away. Probably he was speculating as to whether his confederate, Dhondaram, had learned to operate the air craft.

Matt gave Ben Ali scant time to come to a conclusion. Quick work was now in order, and the _Comet_ ducked downward and slid through the air with slowing motor. Guided by a true, steady hand, the wheels brushed the roadway, then began to turn as the weight of the machine rested more heavily upon them. A short run of a dozen feet brought the _Comet_ to a stop.

Ben Ali had not stirred from the place where Matt had first seen him standing.

Gathering the white robe about him, Motor Matt stepped hurriedly to the ground and ran toward Ben Ali.

The Hindoo, staring serpent-like, recoiled, his red robe falling away slightly as his hands raised the club.

"Ben Ali," cried the king of the motor boys, "I have caught you at another of your tricks. Did you think I was Dhondaram? Dhondaram is a prisoner, and you will soon join him in jail."

There followed a tense moment, during which Ben Ali's eyes glowed and scintillated with their marvelous powers, and his hands tightened on the bludgeon.

It was not a time to delay matters, and the young motorist made ready for desperate work against the arrival of the automobile.

"_Maskee!_" cried the astounded Hindoo, as Motor Matt leaped at him.

Ben Ali's amazement appeared to hold him paralyzed for the moment. It was not until Matt had caught the club that he aroused himself and began vigorous resistance.

Every instant Matt expected the automobile to come whirling to the spot with his friends.

He had the club, but Ben Ali, with a tigrish spring, seized him about the throat and clung to him like a leech, and all the while Ben Ali's eyes were rolling about in a way that was horrible to behold.

Matt dropped the club to catch at the Hindoo's straining arms. He felt a wave of weakness sweep through him, while the flashing eyes continued to exercise their baneful spell.

Was he being hypnotized in spite of himself? He had read that this was impossible, and that no man could be put in a state of hypnosis against his will. Yet what did that strange weakness mean?

A tremor ran through Matt's body. He tried to call aloud, but his lips framed voiceless words. By degrees he felt himself growing weaker and weaker, yielding more and more to the spell of the baneful orbs that sought his undoing.

Then, when it seemed as though he was about to come entirely under Ben Ali's power, there fell a blow--sudden, quick, and accompanied by a wild, feminine cry.

Ben Ali's tense fingers relaxed their grip, his form slumped forward, and Matt stood staring at the girl.

She was Margaret Manners, there was not the least doubt of that. In order to save him, the girl had seized the bludgeon, had approached her uncle from behind, and struck him down.

The girl's face was wild with grief, but there was a burning resolution in the eyes.

"I had to!" she cried hysterically. "I had to do that in order to save you. It was the spell, the spell of the eyes! He would have made you his victim, Motor Matt, just as certainly as he has worked his will with me! Oh, let us get away from here! Quick!" In a frenzy of fear she cast aside the club and seized his arm with both hands. "There are others--Aurung Zeeb is one. They are armed, and they will soon be here."

Matt dashed a hand across his forehead, as though to free his brain from some frightful dream.

"There are others, you say?" he gasped.

"Yes, yes," she answered distractedly.

"Where?"

"Watching the road! They---- Ah, too late, too late!"

Matt whirled and looked across the oak opening. From the side lying nearest the town came a running figure. It was Aurung Zeeb.

Where was the automobile? Matt could not hear it, and there was now no time to wait.

The girl had dropped to her knees and thrown her hands over her face.

"Come!" he called, bending down and catching her by the arm. "We can get away from here. Be brave, and trust to me!"

The girl started up, and he ran with her toward the aëroplane. As they drew near the machine, Matt saw another Hindoo coming into the opening along the other road.