Chapter XIII: A Daring Plot

"In order to get to New Orleans," said Matt, in a low tone, "we'll have to head west along the road. Now, if we work the scheme, my part in it is settled, as I am the only one who can run the car. I shall have to stay close here, and you three can settle it among yourselves as to what parts you will take in pushing the deal through. Two of you will carry Jurgens half a mile westward, and wait at the edge of the road, ready to lift Jurgens into the car and to hop aboard when it comes along. One of you, I am not particular which, will go about a stone's throw farther into the timber and wait about half an hour in order that the two who are to tote Jurgens get to their proper place at the roadside. Then, the one who is in the timber will set up a hoarse yell for Whistler and Bangs, and will fire off one of the revolvers. Do you catch my drift?"

"It vas too many for me," said Carl.

"I can't rise to it, either," added Dick.

"See if I've guessed it right," spoke up Dashington. "The fellow that does the shooting and yelling in the timber will try to make Whistler and Bangs think he is Jurgens. The guess is that Whistler and Bangs will leave the auto and rush off to help Jurgens. Then what, Motor Matt?"

"Then I run to the car and start it down the road."

"Und vat pecomes mit der feller in der timber?" asked Carl.

"He runs for the road as soon as he hears Whistler and Bangs pounding through the brush," explained Matt. "He will angle off toward the turnpike and reach it way this side of where the other two are with Jurgens. I'll take the first fellow in, then we'll slam the machine through and pick up the other two of you and Jurgens. After that we ought to have clear sailing right into New Orleans. And, furthermore, at the first town west we can have officers come back and hunt for the two thieves we leave behind. By making a move like that, we'll not only give ourselves a lift into the city, but, better still, we'll take from Whistler and Bangs their only means of escape out of the country."

"That's the dope!" chuckled Dashington. "Anything that puts Whistler and Bangs on the slide makes a hit with me. It's a cinch this gang won't forget in a hurry what they did to Joe Dashington, nor what Dash did to even the score. I've got my place picked out."

"Vich iss it?" asked Carl.

"I'm the fellow to go in the woods, shake loads out of the pepper box and put up a roar."

"That means, Carl," said Matt, "that you and Dick will have to look after Jurgens. We'll give you half an hour to get where you're going. At the end of that time Dash will begin his racket. Then it's up to me to start the machine."

"You've picked out the hot end of it for yourself, Motor Matt," remarked Dashington. "From your talk one would think it the easiest piece of work on the job, but I'm jerry that it's some different. There's a lot of brush piled in front of the car, and on top of it. You won't have much time to get it out of the way."

"I don't expect to carry it off by the armful," said Matt, "but to start the car and drive through it and over it."

"Then it's a guess, and only a guess," pursued Dashington, "that both Whistler and Bangs will rush into the timber to give Jurgens a helping hand. Suppose only one of them goes? You'll be in a fine row of stumps trying to steal the machine with a man looking at you over the sights of a rifle!"

"That's the chance I take," said Matt coolly. "We're all taking chances, for that matter, and you're taking as many as any one else, Dash."

"Well," returned Dashington, "I'm satisfied if the rest of you are. Ring the gong, Motor Matt, and we'll take our corners."

"You and Carl had better move, Dick," said Matt, nodding toward Jurgens and the pole. "Pick up your man and start. Do you feel equal to it?" he added, turning an anxious look on the sailor.

"Equal to anything, mate," answered Dick, "now that we've got the diamonds. Only don't lose the stones, that's all. Grab your end of the pole, Carl," he added.

Carl was as happy a Dutchman as one could have found in seven states. He was morbidly fond of excitement, and he liked always to be "in the midst of alarms"--providing there was nothing supernatural about the alarms. His face fairly shone as he picked up his end of the pole and staggered away with it.

It was only a moment before Carl, Dick and their swinging burden was out of sight; and less than a minute more until a wild, hair-raising yell for help came from the direction taken by the two boys.

Matt and Dashington gave a jump of consternation. They realized at once what must have happened. Undoubtedly Jurgens had got rid of his gag, unknown to Dick or Carl, and had given vent to the yell.

Answering cries came almost instantly from the direction of the automobile.

There was not much time for Matt and Dashington to think what should be done, but their wits were keen and they thought along the same line.

"I'll draw them off, Matt," muttered Dashington, and sped into the wood.

There was no time for Matt to reply, for the crashing of brush proved that one or both of the men who had been in the car were close upon him.

Flinging himself to one side, Matt crouched on his knees behind a tree. Whistler and Bangs rushed into sight.

"Where'n thunder did that yell come from?" cried Whistler.

"Off to the left, there," answered Bangs, indicating the direction taken by Carl and Dick.

For an instant Matt's hopes went down, and he had a mental picture of Jurgens being rescued, and Carl and Dick having trouble with those long rifles.

Just at that moment, however, Dashington was heard from.

"This way, Whistler! Bangs! Quick! The diamonds! The diamonds!"

The voice was hoarse and a close imitation of Jurgens'. And then that mention of the diamonds was a masterstroke.

"Somebody's taking the diamonds!" yelped Whistler, bounding straight ahead.

"Confound Jurgens for carryin' 'em!" fumed Bangs, hurling himself after Whistler.

Matt's time to get active had now arrived. With an exultant heart he jumped to his feet and raced for the automobile.

He had to kick aside some of the brush to get at the crank, and the engine was slow in turning over; but, finally, he had the motor popping and settling down into a steady hum.

Into the car he leaped, there was a moment's work with the handle bars, a twist at the steering wheel and the car leaped toward the road, scattering the brush right and left.

Once on the highway and headed westward, fresh difficulties confronted Matt. His carefully laid plan had been only partly carried out, owing to the untimely yell from Jurgens.

Carl and Dick had had no time to get very far down the road, and Dashington would be put to it to double back and get around Whistler and Bangs.

Matt slowed the car and snailed along on the low speed, looking anxiously the while into the timber that edged the road.

He saw nothing of Dashington, who would presumably be the first one he picked up, and off somewhere in the dusky confines of the wood he heard the snarling report of a rifle.

His heart almost stood still at that.

At whom had the shot been fired? And had it reached its mark?

Matt thought of Dashington. In spite of Dashington's rapid past, there was something about the young fellow that was attractive, and Matt was beginning to like him.

It would have been a sad commentary on the course of events if Dashington was to be shot down just on the threshold of a better career.

In order to signal to his friends the location of the car, Matt honked loud and long.

Again came a rifle shot, this time much closer, and Matt heard the whistle of the ball through the air.

That meant, if it meant anything, that Dashington was coming toward the road, and that Whistler and Bangs were following him and shooting as they came. Matt dared not stop the car, for there would be no time to crank up and he did not dare trust the engine to take the spark, even after a short stop.

Presently, to Matt's anxious ears came a crashing of bushes and a sound of hard breathing. The noise came from a little way ahead, and he drove the car forward at a faster speed.

He could hear voices now, coming out of the recesses of the timber--the voices of Whistler and Bangs lifted excitedly.

"There he goes, Whistler!"

"Nail him, then, Bangs! He's got the loot and is trying to make a getaway with it."

_Bang!_

Another bullet rattled through the trees and clipped the air over Matt's head.

Just at that moment, Dashington, apparently unhurt but nearly spent, staggered into sight.

"Bilked!" he gasped; "I bilked 'em for fair."

"Into the tonneau, quick!" shouted Matt.

Dashington staggered to the running board and fell sprawling into the rear of the car.

"They're stealing the car!" howled the voice of Bangs, who was now close enough to the road to see what was going on.

"Stop 'em!" roared the panting voice of Whistler. "If they get away with the car we're done for!"

Away jumped the car on the high speed, throwing dust and gravel from the rear tires in a shower.

_Bang! bang!_ came the harsh notes of the rifles, but the screen of dust and the excitement of the moment were not conducive to accurate shooting.

The car raced off, made a turn in the road, and Whistler and Bangs were left behind.

"Keep an eye out for Dick and Carl, Dash!" shouted Matt. "They ought to be somewhere around here."

At just that moment, Carl showed himself in the road, jumping up and down and waving his hat.