Chapter XII: A Scientific Fact

For an instant, following Motor Matt's tragic announcement, McGlory and Burton were stricken dumb with horror. The cowboy was first to recover his wits, and he leaped to the back of Burton's horse.

"Doctor!" he shouted, galloping madly along the road between the ropes that separated the crowd; "we want a doctor! Where's a doctor?"

In a crowd like that it was natural that there should be many doctors, and no less than three forced themselves through the throng, dived under the ropes, and hurried to Motor Matt.

Among these three physicians was Doctor Horton, an old man of no particular school, but widely read and eminent in his profession.

"He'll die," said one of the medical men. "If that snake was a genuine cobra, and if its fangs were not removed, Motor Matt might as well make his will--and be quick about it."

"My opinion exactly," said the other physician.

"Bosh!" answered Doctor Horton derisively.

The other two turned on him.

"What do you mean, Horton?" they demanded.

"Just what I say," was the response. "This brave lad, who endangered his own life to save innocent spectators, is as sound as a dollar this minute."

"Then the snake was not a cobra," averred one of the others.

"It _was_ a cobra," snapped Doctor Horton; "I saw it."

"Then its fangs had been pulled."

"They had not been pulled--I saw them, too."

"It is not possible, in that case, that the young man was bitten."

"Not bitten?" cried Doctor Horton ironically, lifting Matt's wrist, which he was holding. "Certainly he was bitten, and by one of the most poisonous snakes of which we have any knowledge. There's the mark, gentlemen, and it's as plain as the nose on your face. We were looking up at him, weren't we, when he was fighting the cobra and fighting, at the same time, to keep the flying machine from dropping into the crowd? And didn't we see him fling out his arm with the snake hanging to his wrist? The force in the throw of the arm--and there's some strength there, gentlemen, believe me," interjected the doctor, patting the biceps--"flung the reptile off. It fell, and so close to me that I had the pleasure of putting my heel on its head. Do you suppose for a minute that the cobra could hang to Motor Matt's arm without biting? I am surprised at you."

"What's the answer?" inquired one of the other two.

"The venom of the cobra," proceeded Doctor Horton, "acts swiftly on the human system. Yet we see here none of the symptoms attending such poisoning. By now, you understand, they should be well advanced. You ask me the reason our brave young friend is in a normal condition? A scientific fact has come to his rescue. It is well known," and the doctor accented the "well" and gave his medical confrères a humorous glance, "that the cobra can bite, but cannot release its poison _unless the fangs come together in the wound_. In this case, the fangs did not meet, consequently the bite was as harmless as that of the ordinary garter snake."

Dr. Horton slipped his fingers along Matt's wrist and gripped his hand.

"You are to be congratulated; my lad," he went on. "It was your quickness in seizing the snake, I infer, and in hurling it from the aëroplane, that prevented it from laying firm hold of you. Tell us what happened. We have learned a little from the acrobat who was on the trapeze, and who dropped off when near the ground, but we were all too much excited, at the time, to pay much attention to him. Besides, he was under the aëroplane, and in no position to know just what went on in your vicinity. Give us the facts."

Matt, relieved beyond expression, told of the cause of the short circuit, and of his attempts to get the machine in the right position for alighting; and finished with a terse account of the way he had grabbed the cobra and flung it from him.

The exciting chronicle was set forth in few words and with the utmost diffidence. The recital, however, struck an undernote of courage and self-sacrifice in the line of duty that caught Doctor Horton's admiration.

"Once more," said the physician, taking Matt's hand. "What you accomplished, my lad, was nobly done. How many could have kept their wits in such a situation? Not many--hardly one out of a thousand. You're the manager of this show, are you?" he added, turning to Burton.

"I am, yes, sir," replied Boss Burton.

"Then you owe Motor Matt a lot. A fearful accident has been averted, and you might have been swamped with damage suits."

The crowd surged around the _Comet_, and stout canvasmen had to be summoned to force the people back. Burton, mounted on his saddle horse, saw a chance to say a few words.

"Good people," he shouted, "every act down on my bills is faithfully given exactly as represented. I tolerate no misstatements in any of my paper. The gallant young motorist, who has exhibited his aëroplane to you this afternoon in an act more thrilling than even the most imaginative showman could advertise, is but one of many artists of world-wide reputation whom I have secured, at fabulous expense, to amuse you behind yonder tented walls. This is the only show now on the road to give, absolutely free, such a grand outdoor flying machine exhibition. Other acts, equally thrilling and instructive, will soon be performed in the two large rings and on the elevated stage under the main canvas. The doors are now open."

With that Boss Burton, having secured probably the greatest advertisement his show had ever received, rode off in the direction of the tents.

While the crowd followed, and Matt and McGlory found themselves, for the first time, able to have a little heart-to-heart talk, they drew off to one side and began making the most of their opportunity.

"Say, pard," said the cowboy glumly, "I'm about ready to quit this aëroplane business."

"Why?" asked Matt.

"There's not money enough in the country to pay me for going through what I did when I saw you swinging aloft with the cobra."

"You saw it?" queried Matt.

"That's what I did, and I yelled and tried to let you know about it, but the crowd was making so much noise you couldn't hear."

Dusk was beginning to fall, and the gasoline torches about the show grounds leaped out like dazzling fireflies. McGlory stared at them thoughtfully for a space, then passed a handkerchief across his damp forehead.

"It don't pay," he muttered. "You take all the risk, Matt, and Ping and I just slop around and kick you off when you make your jump skyward. I'd rather, enough sight, have been up in the machine with you than standing down here on the ground, watching and worrying."

Matt did not dismiss his cowboy pard's words with the careless laugh he usually had for such sage remarks.

"It's all nonsense, of course," said he, "your talking about me taking all the risk and doing all the work. I fly the machine because I'm the only one who can do it, but you help me in other ways that are just as important. I'm in the air for perhaps thirty minutes each day, while you're on the ground, old pard, and watching things during every hour of the twenty-four."

"Watching things!" exploded McGlory. "Speak to me about that! How well do I watch things? Did I see the Hindoo when he hitched that bag with the snake to the aëroplane? It was my business to get onto that, and I didn't know until you had left the road and were too far up to hear me. That's what I'm kicking about. I fell down--and I'm to blame for the whole bloomin' mishap."

"You're not," said Matt sharply, "and I won't have you say so. It's useless to harp on such things, anyhow, Joe, so let's discuss something of more importance."

"The way you fooled the cobra? Why, that's----"

"Not that, either. The bag tied to the aëroplane has the name of the show lettered on it, so----"

"Burton and I both discovered that," interrupted McGlory. "Carter had two bags containing the show money. We already had one, and that bag's the other. Wait, and I'll get it."

McGlory dived under the lower wing of the machine and groped about until he found the bag.

"There was nothing in it but the snake," said he, as he rejoined Matt. "It was a bagful of trouble, all right, at that. Fine two-tongue performance the Hindoo gave when he said he had sold the snake. Sufferin' Ananias! I suspected him of putting the bag there the minute I saw the cobra crawling up onto the lower wing, behind you and Le Bon."

"Did you hunt for the fellow?" asked Matt.

"_Did_ we! Why, Burton had every man that could be spared from the show chasing all over the grounds. What's more, he sent word to the police, and they're on the hunt. Here's what that Hindoo tinhorn has done: He tried to make Rajah wreck the aëroplane, and he tried his best to get you and the cobra mixed up while in the air. Why? What's his reason for actin' like that?"

"Give it up, Joe. Not only has Dhondaram done all that, but he has lifted Burton's ticket-wagon money. There's something back of it all, and I'd give a farm to know just what it is. If I----"

McGlory was interrupted by a cracked voice, down the road, lifted in what purported to be song:

"Hi le, hi lo, hi le, hi lo,
Bei uns gets immer je länger je schlimmer,
Hi le, hi lo, hi le, hi lo,
Bei uns gets immer ja so!"

"Carl!" exclaimed Matt. "I could tell that voice of his among a thousand."

"But what the nation is he coming with?" cried McGlory, peering along the road into the gloom. "Looks like he had a rig of some kind."

The "rig," when it drew closer, proved to be one of the donkey carts driven by the clowns in the parade. The Dutch boy was walking ahead and leading the donkey.

"Hooray for der greadt tedectif!" whooped Carl, bringing the donkey outfit to a halt. "Modor Matt, I haf dit vat you say."

"What have you done, Carl?" returned Matt curiously.

"Come aroundt by der cart und take a look!"

Thereupon Carl caught Matt's arm and led him to the cart. The cart was small and mounted on low wheels, and Matt and McGlory had no difficulty in looking down into it.

Ping, his hands and feet tied together, was roped to the seat. Suddenly he set up a wail.

"My velly bad China boy!" he whimpered, "velly bad China boy. Motol Matt, you no like Ping ally mo'."

"Dot's vat I dit," observed Carl, puffing out his chest, folding his arms, and striking an attitude. "I ketch der shink, like vat you say, und he shpeak oudt himseluf dot he don'd vas any goot. Vat I tell you ven ve vas at subber, hey? I vas der greadest tedectif vat efer habbened, I bed you."