Chapter VI: Robbery

Motor Matt made as graceful an ascent and as pretty a flight in the aëroplane as any he had ever attempted. Archie Le Bon, swinging below the machine on a trapeze, put the finishing touch to the performance by doing some of the most hair-raising stunts. Loud and prolonged were the cheers that floated up to the two with the _Comet_, and there was not the least doubt but that the aëroplane had successfully diverted the minds of the spectators from the recent trouble with Rajah.

After the _Comet_ had fluttered back to earth, and the crowd had drifted away toward the side show, Matt and McGlory left a canvasman in charge of the machine and dropped in at the cook tent for a hurried meal. There was now nothing for the two chums to do until the next flight of the day, which was billed to take place at half-past six.

"Did you ever have a feeling, pard," said the cowboy, as he and Matt were leaving the mess tent and walking across the grounds toward the calliope "lean-to," "that there was a heap of trouble on the pike, and all of it headed your way?"

"I've had the feeling, Joe," laughed Matt.

"Got it now?"

"No."

"Well, I have."

McGlory halted and looked skyward, simultaneously lifting his handkerchief to test the strength and direction of the wind. Watching the weather had become almost a second nature with the cowboy since he and Matt had been with the Big Consolidated. Aëroplane flights are, to a greater or less extent, at the mercy of the weather, and the more wind during an ascension then the greater the peril for Motor Matt.

"Think the weather is shaping up for a gale this afternoon, Joe?" queried Matt.

"Nary, pard. There's not a cloud in the sky, and it's as calm a day as any that ever dropped into the almanac."

"Not exactly the day to worry, eh?"

"Well, no; but I'm worrying, all the same. What are you going to do now?"

"Catch forty winks of sleep in the calliope tent. We didn't get our full share of rest last night, and I'm feeling the need of it."

When they got to the "lean-to" Matt laid a horse blanket on the ground, close to the wheels of the canvas-covered calliope, and stretched himself out on it. A band was playing somewhere about the grounds, and the sound lulled him into slumber.

The cowboy was not sleepy, and he was too restless to stay in the "lean-to." Matt was hardly asleep before McGlory had left on some random excursion across the grounds.

A man entered the calliope tent. He came softly, and halted as soon as his eyes rested on the sprawled-out form of Motor Matt.

The man was Dhondaram. A burning light arose in the dusky eyes as they continued to rest on the form of the sleeper.

For some time the doors leading into the "big show" had been open. Crowds were entering the menagerie tent, and passing from there into the "circus top." The noise was steady and continuous, so that it was impossible for Matt, who was usually a light sleeper, to hear the entrance of the Hindoo.

Dhondaram lingered for several minutes. He had not his flat-topped basket with him, and he whirled abruptly and hurried out of the "lean-to."

From the look that flamed in the face of the Hindoo as he left, it seemed as though he was intending to return again--and to bring the cobra with him.

He had not been gone many minutes, however, when Boss Burton entered the calliope tent. This was where he usually met the man from the ticket wagon, as soon as the receipts had been counted and put up in bags, received the money, and carried it to the bank. This part of the work had to be accomplished before three o'clock in the afternoon, as the banks closed at that hour. The money from the evening performance always accompanied Burton in the sleeping car on the second section of the show train, and was deposited in the next town on the show's schedule.

Burton did not see Matt lying on the ground, close up to the calliope, and seated himself on an overturned bucket and lighted a cigar. The weed was no more than well started, when Dhondaram, carrying his basket, appeared softly in the entrance. At sight of Burton, the Hindoo stifled an exclamation and came to a startled halt.

"What's wrong with you?" demanded the showman.

"Nothing at all, sahib," answered Dhondaram, recovering himself.

"Feeling all right now?"

"Yes, sahib."

"Good!"

Without lingering for further talk, Dhondaram faced about and glided away.

The conversation between the showman and the Hindoo had awakened Matt. The young motorist sat up blinking and looked at Burton. He knew how the proprietor of the Big Consolidated always met the ticket man in the calliope tent, about that time in the afternoon, and checked up and received the proceeds for deposit in the local bank.

"Much of a crowd, Burton?" called Matt.

"Oh, ho!" he exclaimed. "You've been taking a snooze, eh?"

"A short one. Trying to make up for a little sleep I lost last night. What time is it, Burton?"

"About half-past two. Say," and it was evident from Burton's manner that the thought flashing through his brain had come to him suddenly, "I want to talk with you a little about that Dutch pard of yours."

"Go ahead," said Matt, leaning back against one of the calliope wheels; "what about Carl?"

"Is he square?" continued Burton.

"Square?" repeated Matt. "Why, he's as honest a chap as you'll find anywhere. If he wasn't, he wouldn't be training with McGlory and me. You ought to know that, Burton."

"You ain't infallible, I guess. Eh, Matt? You're liable to make mistakes, now and then, just like anybody else."

"I suppose so, but I know Carl too well to make any mistake about _him_. What gave you the idea he was crooked?"

"I never had the idea," protested Burton. "I just asked for information, that's all. He came to the show on your recommendation, and I've taken him in, but I like to have a line on the people I get about me."

"There's more to it than that," said Matt, studying Burton's face keenly. "Out with it, Burton."

"Well, then, I don't like the Dutchman's looks," acknowledged Burton. "Ping told me----"

"Oh, that's it!" muttered Matt. "Ping told you--what?"

"Why, that he caught the Dutchman going through his pockets last night. If that's the kind of fellow Carl is, I----"

"Take my word for it, Burton," interrupted Matt earnestly, "my Dutch pard is on the level. He makes a blunder, now and then, but he's one of the best fellows that ever lived."

"What did Ping talk to me like that for?"

"He and Carl don't hitch. There's a little petty rivalry between them, and they're a bit grouchy."

"Is Ping so grouchy that he's trying to make people believe Carl's a thief?"

"Ping is a Chinaman, and he has his own ideas about what's right and wrong. I'll talk to him about this, though."

"You'd better. Certainly you don't want one of your pards circulating false reports about another." Burton looked at his watch impatiently. "I wonder where Andy is?" he muttered, "He's behindhand, now, and if he delays much longer, I'll not be able to get to the bank before closing time."

"He may have had such a big afternoon's business," suggested Matt, "that it's taking him a little longer to get the money counted, and into the bags."

"The business was only fair--nothing unusual. Andy has had plenty of time to sack up the money and get here with it."

Andy Carter was the ticket man. He was middle-aged, an expert accountant, and was usually punctual to the minute in fulfilling his duties to his employer.

"Have you seen anything of Dhondaram lately?" Matt inquired casually.

"He blew in here with his little basket just before you woke up. Didn't you see him?"

"I heard you talking," answered Matt, "and that's what wakened me, but I didn't see who you were talking with. Did he get Rajah under control again, Burton?"

A puzzled look crossed the showman's face.

"He can manage that big elephant as easily as I can manage a tame poodle, and he wasn't two minutes with the brute before he had him as meek as Moses. What I can't understand is how Rajah ever broke away and went on the rampage like he did."

"There are others on this ground who deserve your suspicions a whole lot more than my Dutch pard," observed Matt.

"You mean that I'd better be watching Dhondaram?"

"Not at all," was the reply. Matt was already having the Hindoo watched, so it was hardly necessary for Burton to attend to the matter. "The Hindoo's actions are queer."

"Hindoos are a queer lot, anyhow. But they're good elephant trainers, and that's the point that gets me, just now."

"Where did Dhondaram say he----"

Motor Matt got no further with his question. Just at that moment a man reeled through the entrance. His hat was gone, his coat was torn, and there was a bleeding cut on the side of his face. With a gasp, he tumbled to his knees in front of Burton.

"Great Jupiter!" exclaimed Burton, leaping to his feet. "Andy! What's happened to you?"

"Robbed!" breathed the ticket man, swaying and holding both hands to his throat; "knocked down and robbed of two bags of money that I was bringing here. I--I----"

By then the startled Matt was also on his feet.

"Who did it?" shouted the exasperated Burton. "Did you see who did it? Speak, man!"

But Carter was unable to speak. Overcome by what he had passed through, he crumpled down at full length and lay silent and still at the showman's feet.