Chapter VII: A Mysterious Disappearance

"Do you know this cattleman in Ash Fork who had the runabout stolen from him?" asked Legree.

"I know him by sight," answered Matt; "I'm not acquainted with him."

"Are you sure that he will pay five hundred dollars for the recovery of his automobile?"

"He said he would, and he's able to do it. And he offers to pay five hundred dollars apiece for the capture of Brisco and Spangler."

"Then there's a chance for you to make fifteen hundred. I'd advise you to stay here and do it."

Matt leaned against the car and went into a brown study.

Mr. Tomlinson had not required him to get to Albuquerque in a hurry. He could take a reasonable amount of time for the trip. But Mr. Tomlinson _did_ expect the car to be brought safely to its destination. Would Matt in any way endanger the car by staying a short time in Fairview? That was the question that bothered him.

"I t'ink, Matt," said Carl, "dot I could use some oof dot fifdeen huntert. Vy nod shtay und dry dem a virl?"

"If I stay, Legree," observed Matt, "I won't be called on to use the Red Flier for chasing Brisco and Spangler, will I? The car doesn't belong to me and I can't take any chances with it."

"You can do as you please about that, Matt. I'm after Brisco. If you get Spangler and the runabout, you'll have to do it in your own way. Spangler and Brisco, though, seem to be working together, just now, so my work ought to help you."

"Why not get an officer here and----"

"Do you want to divide with an officer what the cattleman is willing to pay?"

"You know a lot that you're not telling me, Legree," said Matt quietly.

"Well," grinned Legree, "when it comes to that, I know a lot that I'm not telling anybody--just now. You've heard more from me than any one else--excepting the kid."

"I think I'll lay over here until to-morrow," said Matt.

"Hoop-a-la!" exulted Carl. "Be jeerful, everypody. I t'ink, Matt," he added, "dot I vill infest my haluf oof dot fifdeen huntert tollars in gofermend ponds, und----"

"Don't invest it till you get it, Carl," interposed Matt dryly. "Pull off your coat, now, and we'll wash up the car and fill the tanks."

For two hours the boys were more than busy. While in Motor Matt's hands, the machine was always as carefully groomed as a race-horse. Not only that, but after the day's run he made it a point to go over the machinery with a wrench and pliers, tightening up everything that had worked loose and making sure that every part was in complete working order.

The water-tank was filled. Ten gallons of gasoline were needed for the gasoline reservoir, but before he bought any from O'Grady, Matt tested it carefully with a hydrometer. Finding it nearly the same grade as he had been using, he funneled it into the tank, not only straining it through wire gauze but through thin chamois skin as well. The oil supply was also replenished.

When the boys were through, the Red Flier was as spick and span as when it had come from the shop. Not only that, but it was fit to take the road at a moment's notice and make a record run.

To Matt's regret, there was no place in town where the car could be housed for the night. There were two or three old barns, but they were so foul and unclean that he would not take the machine into them. He preferred to leave it outdoors all night, sleeping in the tonneau and guarding against tampering.

When supper was announced, Carl watched the car while Matt ate; and when Matt had finished, Carl went in for his own meal.

Uncle Tom, feeling much better now that his physical necessities had been relieved, walked out to the car with Matt when he left the dining-room.

There was something on the old negro's mind. He seemed flustered and backward about getting at it. Finally he broached the astonishing proposition, leading up to it by degrees.

"Ah's done let out ob er job by de scan'lous actions ob dat 'ar Brisco, Marse Matt," said he moodily.

"Hard luck, Uncle Tom," answered Matt sympathetically. "Where do you live when you're at home?"

"Ah's one ob dem 'ar rolling stones, en Ah ain't had no home sense Ah was knee-high tuh a possum, no, suh. Fo' de las' few houahs, Marse Matt, Ah's been kind ob cogitatin' en mah haid an' I 'bout come tuh de conclusion dat yo' outlook in life is juberous, yassuh. Yo's a puffick gemman, but yo' take so many chances dat yo' prospecks am sholy juberous."

"How can I help that, Uncle Tom?" asked Matt, enjoying immensely the old darky's vagaries.

"Ah knows how dat kin be fixed, sah," went on Uncle Tom. "What yo' has got tuh hab is a official mascot, sah, tuh be wif yo' all de time an' wuk off de hoodoo. Ah 'lows, sah, dat I could fill dat job. How much yo' willin' tuh pay fo' an official mascot by de monf?"

That was too much for Motor Matt. Laying back in the tonneau he laughed till he shook.

"Doan' laff, Marse Matt," begged the old fraud; "hit's a mouty complexus bizness. Tu'n hit ober in yo' mind, sah, en if yo' t'ink Ah'm wuth mah bo'd an' keep, jess considah Ah'm engaged."

"Why, Uncle Tom," said Matt, "I haven't much more than enough to board and keep myself, so I guess my prospects will have to continue to be 'juberous.'"

"Doan' say dat, sah; t'ink it ober. Ah'll hold mahse'f open fo' de engagemunt."

Uncle Tom stumped back into the house, and Matt kicked off his shoes and snuggled down under a blanket which O'Grady had furnished him.

Half an hour later, Carl came out with a blanket of his own.

"What are you going to do, Carl?" asked Matt, rousing up and peering at his friend through the gloom.

"Dis iss some games vot two can blay ad, my poy," chuckled Carl. "I vill shleep py der machine mit you."

"Go on!" scoffed Matt. "What's the use of denying yourself a good bed when you can just as well have one?"

"Vell, I dredder shtay mit you. Don'd say nodding, pecause it vasn't any use. My mindt iss made oop, yah, you bed you."

"All right, then," said Matt. "Curl up on the steering-wheel and enjoy yourself."

The front seat, of course, was divided into two sections, so it was impossible for Carl to stretch himself out in it; however, he wrapped his blanket around him and crowded down between the seat and the dash, head and shoulders over the foot-board on one side, and his feet tangled up in the foot-pedals and levers on the other.

Just as Matt was getting to sleep a wild _honk, honk!_ brought him up like a shot out of a gun.

"What's that?" called Matt.

"Dot vas my feets," explained Carl coolly. "I hit dem against dot rupper pag vat makes a noise. Oof der car vas vider, den I vouldn't be too long for der blace vat I am. Meppy I puy somet'ing else don gofermend ponds mit dot money. Meppy, yah--so----" and Carl's words drifted off into a snore.

Matt settled down again, and this time nothing disturbed him.

Carl had some bad dreams that night. He thought his feet were caught in a giant clothes-wringer, and that a locomotive was hitched to his head. Some one would run him through the wringer, flattening him out up to the knees, and then the locomotive would back up and pull him out again. When his dreams had tired him out with that set of incidents, they shut him up in a little tin box, and three men on horseback played football with him; other experiences, too numerous to mention, followed, and at the wind-up Carl thought he dropped several miles through the air and smashed through a skylight. Starting up with a groan, he rubbed his eyes and looked around.

It was morning. Carl was sitting up on the ground, chilled and chattering.

At first he thought that skylight episode was not a dream, and he looked up to see the place he had come through. Instead of seeing anything so unsubstantial, his eyes encountered the face of Legree.

"You sleep like a log, Carl!" exclaimed Legree. "Where's Motor Matt? What's become of the automobile?"

Then, in a flash, Carl's hazy mind connected with the tangible things surrounding him when he went to sleep.

"Vy," he cried, struggling to his feet and staring around, "I vas in der car mit Modor Matt! I vent to shleep in it mit him."

"I know you did; but where are Matt and the car now?"

Carl rubbed his eyes again, and then took a more careful look about him.

He was standing in the very place where the car had stood. But there was no sign of the car! And no sign of Motor Matt!

The blanket Carl had taken into the Red Flier with him was lying crumpled on the ground, a dozen feet away.

"Vell, py shinks!" gasped Carl. "I don'd like dot. I don'd like some shokes vere sooch a monkey-doodle pitzness iss made mit me. Modor Matt nefer made dot shoke."

"There's no joke, Carl," answered Legree; "I wish to gracious it _was_ a joke. The Red Flier left here some time during the night. No one heard it. No one knew it was gone until I looked out of the window of my room. You were lying on the ground here, but neither the car nor Matt were in sight. Do you think Matt would pull out and leave you?"

"Leaf me? Matt? Vell, he vas my bard, und how you figure oudt dot he do dot? No, py shinks! Oof he ain'd here he vas dook off, und oof he vas dook off id vas dot Prisco und Spangler vat dit it!"

With that, Carl went over to the well and sat down. He was still confused, but slowly the realization of what had happened was growing upon him. And as the realization grew, his temper mounted with it.