Chapter XVI: In Ash Fork

Once more the Red Flier found shelter in the hotel barn, and once more James Q. Tomlinson was quartered in the hotel. But, of course, it was a different James Q. Tomlinson.

One of the first things Matt did, as soon as he had helped Gregory take care of the Red Flier, was to hunt up the deputy sheriff and tell him what had happened. If there was ever a dumfounded man in Arizona, that man was the deputy.

"Well, thunder an' kerry one!" said he. "Ain't I the bright boy, though? Why, I helped that Denver Denny across the street from the doctor's office, did everythin' I could to make him comfortable, and--oh, gadhook it all! He played me for fair, and no mistake! But I reckon you was a bit fooled yourself, eh?"

"For a while, yes," answered Matt. "But you'd better get busy. Denver Denny is out there on the mountain, and Hank and Spangler are back on the west road with a stolen car. If you hustle you may be able to capture the whole gang--or three of them, anyhow."

"That's me, on the jump."

Ten minutes later the deputy sheriff had collected a posse, and had split the force into two detachments. One party went toward the place where the stolen car had been left, and the other headed along the Flagstaff trail.

As a matter of fact, which may as well be stated in this place, neither detachment accomplished anything.

The owner of the runabout, Lem Nugent, arrived in town on foot, late that afternoon, full of wrath, footsore, and weary.

"Hang the blooming luck, anyhow!" said he, to a group of loungers in front of the hotel. "Got held up for my new car--two fellows snaked it right out from under me. There was a tree across the trail, and of course we had to stop. Next I knew a revolver was looking at me from both sides. I had to get out, and the two hold-up boys went away in the runabout, taking Henry along to run the car for them. As for me--whoosh! I walked into town. Never liked walking much, anyhow. And where's my new runabout? That's what I want to know. Henry's with it, wherever it is."

But Lem Nugent was mistaken. Henry wasn't with the car, at that moment, but was hoofing it into Ash Fork from the hills, glad to have his scalp with him.

He reported to his employer an hour after the theft of the runabout had been described by its owner.

"They made me chase a red touring-car," said Henry, "kept a gun poked into my ribs all the time an' said they'd blow holes in me if I didn't do the right thing. What they thought was the right thing, and what I thought, was some different, but guns was trumps an' they had the best hands. First time we chased the red car the machinery of the runabout went wrong, and the other machine got away from us. Came pretty near getting shot, then, as the strong-arm boys thought I'd made the runabout go wrong a-purpose.

"When we got ready to do some more scorching, the other car had given us the slip. We kept chasing around, and finally dipped over a divide into that east road, a couple o' miles beyond the Fork. By and by we stopped at a place where a feller called Spangler got out and lost himself in a swale. Hank and me jogged on to where the west road come into the other trail, an' turned back along that course. We was to pick up Spangler on the new road, after he'd done something or other, I don't know what.

"Well, unexpectedlike, we sighted the red car. That was our signal to whoop it up, takin' Spangler in behind on the fly. Then we had a race an' no mistake. It would have been our race, too, if the young fellow in the red car hadn't busted a bottle in the trail and spoiled a tire for us. Say, that was the slickest move I ever saw made!

"It took us half an hour to get on a new tire, and by that time, of course, the red car was safe in Ash Fork. Hank made me give him lessons in handling the runabout, then told me to go home and say that he and Spangler liked the machine so well they was going to keep it."

The cattleman swore roundly; and likewise declared that he'd spend the price of a new car getting the old one back.

Tomlinson remained in Ash Fork for two days, recovering from his trying experiences. And when he finally went on to Albuquerque he went by train. As for the Red Flier, the arrangement he had made to have the car taken on developed in a conversation he had with Matt a few minutes before he got aboard the steam-cars.

Matt was at the station with Tomlinson and Gregory, for both were going to Albuquerque by train.

"Here's what I owe you, Matt," said the Denver man, pressing a roll of bills into the young motorist's hand. "A thousand dollars, and I call it cheap, considering the great service you rendered me. The Red Flier will have to come on to Albuquerque, but I don't care to travel with her myself, and I want Gregory to go with me. I'll give you an extra hundred, Matt, if you'll bring the car through. I shall be in Albuquerque for some time, and you can jog along at your leisure. What do you say? If you have anything else on hand, and feel that you can't do it, don't hesitate to say so. Henry, Nugent's driver, will take the Red Flier to Albuquerque, if you can't. But, frankly, I'd rather trust the car in your hands."

"I'll do it," said Matt. "You see, I want to get to Denver myself, and I'll be able to get over a long lap of the run on the trip."

"Good!" exclaimed Tomlinson, with a look of relief. "You're going to Denver, you say?"

"That's my intention."

"What are you going to do there?"

"Something with motor-cars--I can't tell just what, at the present time."

"You'd make a good driver for a racing-car. You've got nerve, and steadiness, and presence of mind. How'd you like a job of that kind?"

Matt's eyes sparkled.

"That would suit me right down to the ground, Mr. Tomlinson," said he.

"Then I think I can help you. A friend of mine is a manufacturer of automobiles, and I know he's looking for a good driver for his racing-machines. If you say so, I'll write him from Albuquerque."

"I'd be obliged to you if you would, Mr. Tomlinson," returned Matt.

"All right, then. You can count on me to give you a good recommendation."

Just then the train came along, Tomlinson and Gregory shook hands with Matt and Carl, and were soon pulling out of Ash Fork.

"Vell, vell!" murmured Carl, staring after the disappearing train, "you vas some lucky poys, Matt. Meppy I vill be lucky, too, oof I shtay hooked oop mit you."

"Nothing would please me better, old chap," said Matt heartily, "than to have you trail along with me."

"Und go mit you py Albuquerque, und den py Tenver?"

"Sure!"

"Hoop-a-la!" jubilated Carl, gripping Matt's hand.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (6) WILL CONTAIN

Motor Matt's Red Flier;

OR,

ON THE HIGH GEAR.

Stranded "Uncle Tommers"--The Red Flier Gets a Load--The Stolen
Runabout--The Coat in the Rumble--Matt Begins a Search--Losing
the Box--A Mysterious Disappearance--Spirited Away--An Unexpected
Meeting--A Daring Plan--On the Road--A Close Call--Car Against
Car--Down the Mountain--Motor Matt's Tenstrike--More Trouble for the
"Uncle Tommers"--Conclusion.

MOTOR STORIES

THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION

NEW YORK, March 27, 1909.

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A YOUNG MARINER'S PERIL.

By RUFUS HALL.

Day after day the poisonous malarial vapors from thickets and jungles, combined with the heat of an equatorial clime, told even upon some of the hardy sailors and marines who had been sent from the sloop of war _Trenton_ to protect a party of engineers away up in the Gaboon country of Lower Guinea, near the mountains, in Western Africa.

In a tent where the marines were encamped, they had put little Jack Winton, the lieutenant's nephew, a boy of fourteen, ill with a fever; and, one morning, as he lay there, with burning cheeks and parched lips, a vision of big red cherries, smooth and round, kept rising in fancy before his wistful eyes. His delirious mutterings were of these cherries, and his hands now and then crossed and recrossed his pillow, as if he thought the fruit must be there.

Then it was that Will Worth, a marine private of sixteen, hearing him, made up his mind to hunt for what he knew the invalid coveted--a cherrylike fruit, to be found among the glens and ravines of the mountains--and to bring some, as a pleasant surprise, to the sufferer. Without mentioning his purpose to any one, he left the camp, being at present off duty, and sped on his way.

Mr. Dale, a youthful ensign, noticing how hurriedly he plunged into the upland thicket ahead, suspected that he meant to desert. His lieutenant had already found fault with him for one soldier's desertion, and he did not relish the idea of another reprimand of this sort. He, therefore, resolved to follow the lad, watch him, and, if he went far, order him back to the camp.

Entering the thicket, he moved rapidly on. The foliage and the brush became denser as he proceeded. He heard the tapping and humming of bees in the hollows of trees. In and out of the great bell-shaped flowers around him they flew, spitefully buzzing at the big green gnats in their way. Hundreds of large white lilies, enormous tulips, and wild roses brightened the shrubbery. High above hovered the scarlet cardinal-bird, sounding its shrill "fife." Below, the hook-nosed falcon boldly confronted the youth, as if inclined to dispute his progress.

At last he caught sight of Worth down in the jungle, on the opposite side of a deep ravine, which he had evidently reached by a roundabout direction through brambles and vines leading past the front of the chasm. Down where he was could be seen gleaming in profusion the small red globes of the cherrylike fruit he had come to gather for his sick little comrade.

The ravine was evidently hundreds of feet in depth, the bottom hidden by the black shadows from the jungle on both sides.

A few yards below Worth the chasm, which was about eighteen feet wide, was crossed by a tree-trunk--a mere sapling, eight inches thick--probably all that remained of a former bridge.

The trunk was smooth, except within five feet of the end nearest the boy, where there was a clipped branch. This end was in a sort of long hollow, overhung by tough roots.

The ensign cautiously descended on his side of the ravine and watched Worth until he had filled a haversack at his side with the "cherries" and was about to ascend, when he called out sharply:

"That fruit will make you a poor meal, my boy, if you mean to desert!"

The startled lad looked across the gorge, saw the ensign, and answered, much hurt by the officer's suspicion:

"I had no intention of deserting, sir. I came here after the fruit for Jack Winton."

"Now, upon my word," said the ensign, who was a good fellow at heart, "I believe you, Worth, and am sorry I made the mistake of suspecting you. Those 'cherries' are just the things for little Jack."

Worth was going to respond, when behind and above him he fancied he heard a low, guttural voice. Turning and looking up, he saw two humanlike but fierce eyes shining amid a thick, dark screen of interlacing vines.

"Who's there--a 'Pongwe?" he inquired, thinking one of the natives of the Mpongwe tribe had been watching him pick the fruit.

There was no reply to his question. But the leafy bower rustled, and now from out the dark screen there rose an awful roar, that was echoed to the chasm's very depths.

From among the concealing vines stepped forth a hideous monster, which the boy at first thought was a chimpanzee, but which, from its black color and ferocious aspect, he concluded must be a gorilla.

Nearly erect it stood, beating its breast with its hands.

Being a greedy lover of fruit, it glared in a fierce, remonstrative way at the lad's full haversack, as if enraged at his having come to pluck the "cherries" it wanted entirely for its own use.

The animal, about five feet high, was covered with black hair, had very broad shoulders and enormous hands, while its stomach bulged as if nearly filled to bursting with the "cherries" it had been eating, the red stain of which was all about its mouth.

The diabolical face, with its great flat nose and projecting open jaws, the latter disclosing two enormous hooked lower teeth and a row of smaller ones above as sharp as a saw, was thrust slightly downward, showing the encircling edges of the hair on its head so distinctly defined as to give it the grotesque appearance of wearing a sort of big furry cap.

It was plain that the brute meant to attack the boy. In fact, it suddenly raised one of its big paws and, with a rush, came crashing toward him through the shrubbery.

Unfortunately he had left his musket, thinking it would be in his way, near the edge of the ravine above. But his bayonet was by his side in its sheath. He drew the steel, and, flourishing it before him, retreated toward the tree-trunk that extended across the chasm.

He had once heard a hunter say that the gorilla, unlike the common monkey, is not a very skilful climber. Neither would it, he thought, attempt, for the same reason, to follow him should he creep out on the horizontal sapling.

But just as he got close to the tree the ferocious brute, uttering a terrible roar, aimed a blow at him with its uplifted paw.

He held up his bayonet.

It was dashed from his grasp, but not before the point had inflicted a wound in the monster's arm. So great was the strength of this hairy arm that that single blow must have lacerated the boy's side had not the big paw fallen upon his cartridge-box.

The force of the stroke whirled him over upon his back, knocking him into the hollow in which rested the end of the tree-trunk. He quickly pushed himself under the tough roots overhanging the hollow.

The gorilla, bending over, looked at its wounded arm, lapped it, and pressed it against its breast, all the time growling as if with blended pain and wrath. Then, using both its left paw and its teeth, it commenced to tear away the protecting roots above the lad, with the probable intention of dealing him a finishing blow.

Its strength was so enormous that the earth broke and flew in all directions as the animal shook, pulled, and bit at the roots. Worth, knowing that these would soon give way, expected to be finally torn to death by the infuriated beast.

Meanwhile, the young ensign on the other side of the ravine had been watching for a chance to shoot at the gorilla with the long double-barreled pistol he had with him, which he had drawn from his belt.

But the boy and his assailant were, from the first, so close to each other that he did not dare to fire, lest the bullet should strike his comrade.

He now ran his gaze along the sapling that bridged the chasm. The slender tree was covered with a green, slippery slime. He doubted if he would be able to creep over it, but he saw no other way of attempting to get within close enough range of the fierce beast to shoot it without risk of hitting Worth. Therefore, replacing his pistol in his belt, he started, crawling along on his hands and knees.

It was a daring venture. The horizontal tree was probably more than two hundred feet above the bottom of the chasm. If he lost his balance, certain death awaited him; he would be precipitated into the black depths so far below.

On he went. As he proceeded, the narrow trunk shook with his weight. When he had reached its center, it bent, oscillated, and one of his knees slid off the slippery surface.

He felt himself going over. His distended eyes were turned downward toward the dark, yawning gulf beneath, into which he expected to fall headlong.

But the thought now occurred to him of throwing himself flat upon his breast along the sapling and of hugging it with his arms.

He did so, and the action saved him. Cautiously he then regained his former position and crept on. At length he reached the clipped branch, within five feet of the end of the tree. The gorilla had nearly torn away all the roots that protected Worth. It seemed about to raise its left paw to deal him a fatal blow. The young officer knew he had no time to lose.

He clutched the stumped branch with his left hand, drew his pistol, and, aiming as well as his position would admit of, he fired. The bullet inflicted a flesh-wound in the monster's side. With a roar that shook the air to the chasm's very depths, the brute turned, saw its assailant, and threw itself toward him, resting its big stomach on the sapling. Up went its mighty left paw, and down it came slantingly toward the officer's head.

Worth uttered a cry of dismay. He expected to see the ensign killed and dashed from the tree's trunk into the black pit of the ravine, hundreds of feet below.

It was a critical moment.

Had Dale drawn his head back, the great paw would still have reached him, have struck his neck, and sent him to his doom.

But instead of attempting in his present cramped position any backward movement, he threw his head and shoulders forward.

Thus the big paw clove, with a whirring sound, the empty air above him, and, placing the muzzle of his pistol between the monster's eyes, he fired.

The brute, as the bullet passed through its brain, slid away from the tree, then clawed wildly at the air with both hands, uttered one loud, humanlike scream, and went whirling down into the black abyss of the ravine.

The ensign crept to land and helped Worth from the hollow. The boy had been badly, though not seriously, injured by the force of the gorilla's blow upon his cartridge-box, which had thus been jammed, as if with the stroke of a sledge-hammer, against his body. As with his rescuer's assistance he limped back toward the camp, now and then carefully adjusting his broken haversack so that the "cherries" in it might not drop out, he warmly thanked his companion for saving his life.

"Don't mention it," was the answer. "I am glad enough to have been able to do something for you toward making up for my mistake of suspecting that you meant to desert."

It was a joyful surprise to little Jack Winton when Worth brought the "cherries" to him. They were of great benefit to the fever-stricken lad, whose health began to improve the moment he had partaken of them.

The ensign had made light of his rescue of Worth, and had advised him not to mention so "trifling a matter," as he termed it, to his comrades.

The boy, fearing that the knowledge of it would tend to unduly excite the invalid, said nothing about it until Jack was fully recovered from his illness, when he gave him an account of the whole affair. The little fellow made it known to his uncle, the lieutenant; and Dale's promotion, not long after, was, perhaps, partly due to this circumstance.

Worth, who had never dreamed of being favored for the slight service he had rendered his sick comrade, now attracted the notice of his commander. The latter, perceiving his unvarying good conduct, soon made him a corporal, from which position he eventually won his way to a higher rank.

SWANS CARRIED OVER NIAGARA FALLS.

All naturalists and many sportsmen will recall the great destruction of swans which took place in March, 1908, at Niagara Falls. A great flock of these large and beautiful birds was carried down the river and over the falls, and an authoritative account of the occurrence recently appeared in a paper by James Savage, of Buffalo, N. Y., printed in the bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural History, says _Forest and Stream_.

While the whistling swan occurs regularly along the Niagara River, it is always a rare migrant, and would scarcely ever be captured were it not for the fact that it often floats down the river to injury or death at the great cataract. Observers declare that scarcely a year passes without one or more swans going over the falls. About twenty made the fatal plunge in March, 1906, and five in the same month, 1907, but no such destruction of swans has been known as took place on March 15, 1908, when more than 100 were destroyed.

During the greater part of the day a severe rain-storm prevailed. About eleven o'clock in the morning, between showers, William Leblond, of Niagara Falls, Ontario, was engaged in removing from the ice bridge a temporary structure that had been used during the winter season as a souvenir and refreshment-stand, when he was startled by a loud cry. Turning around, his attention was first attracted to a swan struggling in the water at the upper end of the ice bridge; but, on looking toward the falls, he saw a great company of swans in distress coming toward the bridge. The scene was a sad one for any bird-lover to contemplate.

These splendid birds, helpless after their terrible plunge over the cataract, were dashed against the ice bridge by the swift current, amid cakes of loose ice which were constantly coming down from the upper river. Some had been killed outright by the falls. Others, unable to fly because of injury to their wings, attempted to stem the rushing waters, but here their wonderful swimming powers were of no avail. They were soon imprisoned in the ice, where their pitiful cries were heartrending.

The game-laws of Ontario will permit the taking of geese and swan in the spring until April 30, and it was not long before men and boys, armed with guns and sticks, availed themselves of the privilege and became the chief factors in the closing scene of nature's great tragedy--the sacrifice of the swans.

As soon as he learned of the occurrence, Mr. Savage visited Niagara Falls, and from his investigation concluded that the number of swans taken March 15 was 102. On the morning of March 18 two more were taken at the ice bridge, and a third was picked up alive on the shore. It was secured by Mr. Savage and photographed. Placed in the zoological collection in Delaware Park, Buffalo, it recovered. Eleven more swans were taken later, and some others were seen which, though apparently carried over the falls, were still able to take wing and fly away.

But swans are not the only water-fowl that are in danger from Niagara. On March 18, 1908, Mr. Savage saw a handsome male canvasback come down against the ice bridge. It appeared to be unable to fly. On the same day he saw a golden-eye duck struggle out of the foaming water below the Horseshoe Falls and reach the shore. It made no attempt to escape when picked up, and seemed unable to walk or fly. Later, however, it recovered and did fly off.

Of the swans which went over the falls, many afterward appeared on the table. A number were preserved by the taxidermists of Niagara Falls and Toronto. A group of five appears in the museum of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences. Mr. Savage saw not less than fifty of these dead birds and looked them over carefully, thinking that perhaps there might be among them a trumpeter swan, but none was found. Mr. Savage believes that fully one-third of the 116 swans taken would have survived if given proper care, but the impulse to kill was stronger than the spirit to save, and not even a pair of these unfortunate birds was rescued from nature's doom and restored to nature's freedom.

PARA RUBBER AND ITS GATHERING.

Rubber is collected by the natives in Brazil, who gather the thick, creamlike sap which oozes from the hatchet-cut in the bark of the rubber-trees. It is received in tiny cups of clay or tin, several of which are emptied daily into pots and carried where the sap is coagulated and "cured." The flow of sap from each tapping lasts but a few hours, and the tree must be bled in fresh places daily.

The total yield from the most vigorous tree does not exceed three or four pints in a season, and a considerable percentage of this is lost by evaporation.

In the camps the Para rubber sap is coagulated over a fire of Uricuri palm-nuts, built under an earthen pot, something like a slender-necked jug without a bottom. A paddle is dipped into the thick sap, and then, holding it in thick smoke, it is deftly turned in the operator's hands until a thin layer of rubber is formed. An hour's work at this would produce a lump, the foundation of a biscuit weighing five or six pounds. When the biscuit has reached a weight of twenty-five pounds or more, it is slit open, the paddle removed, and the rubber hung up to dry. Rubber thus gathered and cured is the finest known.

From the forest the rubber is sent down the stream on crude boats, later being placed on the steamers which ply the Amazon. When Manaos, the second largest city in the Amazon country, is reached, the rubber is boxed, though this is often left until its arrival at Para, at the mouth of the Amazon River. Manaos is 1,200 miles from the sea, so that considerable time is consumed in bringing the rubber to its shipping-point to foreign lands. At Para it is placed in the ocean liners destined for New York or some of the European countries.

QUEER CALIFORNIAN TRADERS.

The queerest "traders" in all vast California are the odd little animals known as "trade rats."

They never steal, but give miscellaneous articles in exchange for what they take.

A paste-pot left overnight in an assay office was found in the morning filled with the oddest collection of rubbish.

This was the work of trade rats. They had stolen the paste, and left in exchange a piece of stick, a length of rope, some odds and ends of wire, and an unbroken glass funnel.

A trade rat's nest, found in an unoccupied house, was composed of iron spikes laid in perfect symmetry, with the points outward. Interlaced with the spikes were two dozen forks and spoons and three large butcher-knives.

There were also a quantity of small carpenters' tools, and a watch, of which the outside casing, the glass, and the works were all distributed separately--to make a good show!

We are unable to state what this particular trade rat left in exchange for all this "loot."

BURROWING FISHES.

In Brazil are to be found fishes, eellike in form, which burrow in the mud during seasons of drought. In wet weather this curious class of fish stores up in its system a reserve of fat, and then, when the dry season arrives and the rivers dry up, it constructs a deep tubular burrow, in which it doubles up, with head and tail together. The mouth of the burrow is closed with a most ingeniously constructed mud flap, through which are several small perforations, which permit the animal to breathe air directly, as it is also one of the few species gifted with both lungs and gills. While enclosed in its nest, the fish is frequently dug out by the natives, who highly prize its flesh. In the period of incubation it lives upon the reserve of fat accumulated during the rainy season. When the early rains soften the soil, the fish emerges from its burrow and resumes its aquatic existence.

TURN RIVER TO MINE ITS BED.

The tunnel to turn the Trinity River from its channel so that the river-bed may be mined for gold is now in 1,150 feet. The total length will be 1,400 feet. The tunnel cuts across a bend two miles above Lewiston. The Trinity River Mining Company has a crew of eight men at work. The tunnel is being dug 8 × 10 feet in size. When it is cut through the hill at that size it will be enlarged to 10 × 12 feet, making it big enough to carry the whole river at ordinary stages. The water will be used at the tunnel outlet to run low-pressure turbines, furnishing power for mining purposes. The river-bed is known to be rich in gold. Over a mile of the bed can be mined when the river is turned through the tunnel less than one-third of a mile in length.

_ESPECIALLY IMPORTANT!!_

MOTOR STORIES

_A New Idea in the Way of Five-Cent Weeklies._

Boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that Street & Smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of MOTOR STORIES.

This weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. It details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. Is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the United States? Is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "Motor Matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades?

Boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called "=Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel=." Its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature.

Here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. Do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer.

No. 1. Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.
No. 2. Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.
No. 3. Motor Matt's "Century" Run; or, The Governor's Courier.
No. 4. Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the _Comet_.

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We knew before we published this line that it would have a tremendous sale and our expectations were more than realized. It is going with a rush, and the boys who want to read these, the most interesting and fascinating tales ever written, must speak to their newsdealers about reserving copies for them.

=MOTOR MATT= sprang into instant favor with American boy readers and is bound to occupy a place in their hearts second only to that now held by Frank Merriwell.

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Here are the titles now ready and also those to be published. You will never have a better opportunity to get a generous quantity of reading of the highest quality, so place your orders now.

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=No. 2.--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.=
=No. 3.--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier.=
=No. 4.--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet."=

TO BE PUBLISHED ON MARCH 22nd

=No. 5.--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot.=

TO BE PUBLISHED ON MARCH 29th

=No. 6.--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear.=

TO BE PUBLISHED ON APRIL 5th

=No. 7.--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.=

TO BE PUBLISHED ON APRIL 12th

=No. 8.--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward.=

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Transcriber's Notes:

Added table of contents.

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

Phoenix was printed with oe ligatures in the original text.

Some inconsistent spellings within dialect have been retained.

Some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. cottonwood vs. cotton-wood) has been retained from the original.

Page 1, changed "Tomilson" to "Tomlinson" and "Ling" to "Sing" in cast of characters.

Page 6, changed "under der drompone" to "und der drompone," "un der sleigh-pells" to "und der sleigh-pells" and "No noddng" to "No nodding."

Page 10, added missing quote after "der Tenver bapers."

Page 12, changed ? to , after "Watching your car."

Page 17, changed "away then went" to "away they went."

Page 21, changed "had he pearls" to "had the pearls."

Page 22, added missing quote before "Does this road run."

Page 23, removed extra quote before "Spangler, for a moment."

Page 28, changed "west rode" to "west road" and added missing quote before "Well, unexpectedlike."

Page 29, changed "hundred of feet" to "hundreds of feet."

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