Chapter VIII: Spirited Away

Carl was not the only one who had been troubled with dreams that night. Motor Matt floundered through one of the worst nightmares he had ever had. The whole scheme of the thing was rather vague, but mighty depressing. He seemed to be engaged in some tremendous struggle, striking away and countering a thousand or more huge fists that leaped at him out of the gloom. One by one he put the clenched hands out of business, and when he had conquered the last of them he opened his eyes in bewilderment.

The humming of a motor was in his ears. It was the Red Flier's motor, he could tell that instinctively. The stars were overhead, the cool, damp smell of the night was all around, and the glow of the acetylene lamps was glimmering and dancing in advance. The car was moving briskly through the silence.

Matt had a queer, sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. Counting out the time he raced the limited train on his motor-cycle, collided with a freight-wagon and was laid up for a fortnight, he had never been confined to his bed for a week in his life.

He wondered what ailed him, and his mind was sluggish and slow in working out the problem.

He had felt just as he did then once before. That was the time he had been drugged and taken out of Phoenix to keep him from racing with the Prescott champion, O'Day.

Had he been drugged now? If so, why, and by whom?

By degrees the cool air cleared his befogged brain. He went back over the chain of events, picking it up where he had dropped it.

The queer party of stranded actors--the arrival at Fairview--the escape of Brisco from the hotel--the ride into the hills to look for the boy--the pursuit by the horsemen and the loss of the tin box--all these events dragged through Matt's mind. He and Carl had gone to sleep in the automobile. Why was the car moving? Had Carl, giving rein to some wild impulse, cranked up the car and started for a night ride?

Matt stirred. "Carl!" he called, "what are you trying to do?"

Matt became aware, then, that there was some one beside him in the tonneau.

"Carl, hey?" came a jeering voice, as a strong hand reached over and pushed Matt back in the seat. "Ye got another guess comin'. Thar ain't no Dutchman along, this trip."

"Tuned up, has he?" asked a voice from the front seat.

"Yep; he's got back ter airth, Hank."

"Surprised?" The man in front laughed hoarsely as he asked the question.

"Waal, kinder. He thought his Dutch pard was erlong."

Matt, while this talk was going forward, realized with a shock that the two men in the car were Brisco and Spangler. Brisco was in the driver's seat, and Spangler was in the tonneau.

With a quick gathering of all his strength, Matt flung himself toward the door of the tonneau. His first unreasoning impulse was to get away from his captors. The car must have been going forty miles an hour, and the roadside was lined with sharp stones. If Matt had succeeded in his desperate attempt, he could hardly have escaped without serious injury; but his rash move was nipped in the bud. Spangler, who was in the tonneau for the purpose, grabbed Matt and hurled him back into the seat.

"None o' that!" he growled. "Want ter break yer bloomin' neck? Not as I keer much about yer neck, but Hank an' me hev got diff'rent plans fer ye."

Matt was still dizzy and weak. The nausea at his stomach was leaving him slowly, but it made him feel as limp as a rag and utterly helpless.

"Did you men run away with this car?" he asked.

"Looks that-away, don't it?" returned Spangler.

"Where's Carl?"

"Didn't hev no time ter bother with the Dutchman, so we left him behind."

"Was he hurt?"

"Hurt? Nary, he wasn't hurt. We ain't opinin' ter hurt anybody this trip so long as we hev our way. The Dutchman was snoring like a house afire. All we did was ter lift him out o' the keer an' lay him on the ground. We give him a smell o' somethin' on a han'kercher, jest ter make him snooze a leetle harder, that's all."

"You drugged both of us, then?"

"That was the easiest way ter keep ye from makin' er noise."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Ye'll know afore long."

It was a rugged road they were traveling, and the Red Flier negotiated it with many a juggling bump. Mountainous rocks, half-screened by bushes and trees, glided by, and there were dusky gashes and seams, and now and then a splash of falling water.

Rougher and rougher grew the trail, and the reckless driving of Brisco caused Matt's nerves to thrill with fears for the car.

"You'll rack the car to pieces if you keep driving like that!" Matt called sharply.

"What's it to you?" taunted Brisco.

"It means a whole lot to me. This car belongs to Mr. Tomlinson, and I've promised to take it safely to Albuquerque."

"Be hanged to you and Mr. Tomlinson!" snarled Brisco. "We'll fix this car before we're done with it. If you ever take it to Albuquerque, you'll have to scoop up the pieces and tote 'em there in a lumber-wagon. That's part of what we're going to do to play even with you and him!"

Matt's heart skipped a beat, and a cold chill ran through his body. Could the villains really mean to destroy the Red Flier?

"You'd better think well about what you do," warned Matt. "If you ruin this car, Mr. Tomlinson will never let up on you till he puts you where you belong."

Spangler brought his hand around in a sweeping blow. Matt dodged the hand so that the stroke was only a glancing one.

"Shut up!" he cried savagely. "Ye ain't here ter make any threats, 'r throw any bluffs."

At that moment, Brisco brought the car to a stop, putting on the brakes so suddenly that the wheels locked and slid.

"I reckon this'll be far enough," said Brisco, turning in his seat. "Make him get out, Spang."

"Hear that?" cried Spang. "Open the door and git down."

"What's this for?" returned Matt, making no move to obey.

For answer, Spangler, with an oath, seized him by the collar and jerked him roughly out of the tonneau.

Matt was unable to make any resistance. As he stood in the road, the jagged uplifts by which he was surrounded seemed to swim about him in circles.

Spangler got back in the car, as Matt staggered to a big boulder and leaned against it, and Brisco backed the car around until it was headed along the back course.

"Wait!" cried Matt, as a thought of what all this might mean to him took shape in his brain.

"We're going to wait--and for just about a minute," returned Brisco.

"Are you going to steal that car?" asked Matt, "just as you stole Nugent's?"

"You're too much of a meddler," snapped Brisco. "If you could go along and mind your own business, you'd be a whole lot better off. You had to tangle up with Tomlinson, back there at Ash Fork, and you hadn't any call to butt in. If it hadn't been for you, we'd 'a' won out on that game and been all to the good. I don't reckon we'd have bothered you at all, though, if you'd been content to carry out your orders and push on to Albuquerque. But you couldn't do that; oh, no. You're trying to be first aid to the weak and down-trodden wherever you run into them, so you had to mix up with that bunch of stranded actors.

"When I drove the runabout into Fairview after gasoline and oil, I dropped Spangler off to lay for the tramps and get that tin box. You had to butt in, as per usual. I got away from Fairview by the skin of my teeth, picked up Spang at the place where he was waiting, and we went on to where our other pard had some horses. We side-tracked the runabout there, and slid back toward Fairview, intending to push through the timber--a move we couldn't make in the car. Then"--and here a swirling oath dropped from Brisco's lips--"we dropped into your little trap."

"What trap?" demanded Matt.

"Oh, no, you don't know a thing about that, do you? You weren't moseying out there just to give us a chance to lift that tin box, were you? And you hadn't the least notion it was empty, had you? If you hadn't turned that trick, my bantam, we wouldn't have turned this one. We're going to settle with you, all right. This is a part of the country that isn't traveled once a week, and you're seventy-five miles from Fairview. By the time you get back to town, we'll have got what was in that box, and have smashed the Red Flier into a heap of jack-straws. I know a nice little cliff alongside the road, and when we're through with the car we'll lash the wheel, open her up and let her go over the edge! I reckon that'll cook your goose with Tomlinson. He didn't calculate you were going to use his car transporting a lot of stranded actors, and mixing up in their affairs on the way to Albuquerque."

For a space, Motor Matt's heart stood still.

"You wouldn't dare do that!" he shouted.

"Wouldn't I?" and a reckless, mocking laugh came with the words. "From what you know of me don't you think I would? Hope you'll have a nice, easy walk to Fairview, Motor Matt! There'll be some surprises in store for you when you get there. Good-by!"

Spangler also shouted a jeering farewell.

The car got in motion, the humming slowly decreased, and the glow of the tail light winked suddenly into darkness.

Motor Matt had been abandoned.

But, worse than that, the two scoundrels who had spirited him away from Fairview were bent on the wanton destruction of Mr. Tomlinson's car!