Chapter XVI

THE END OF THE MID-AIR TRAIL.

The failure of Carl, Harris and Jerrold to make a landing on the "island" has already been recorded.

They had seen the Hawk, moored at one edge of the cleared space, and they had seen Brady and the others; but, of course, it had been impossible for them to see anything of Matt. The young motorist, at that time, was bound hand and foot and lying on the cot in the hut.

With bullets flying around them and threatening injury to the Eagle, it was not policy to remain hovering over such a nest of desperate scoundrels very long.

"We'll get out of here," cried Harris, angrily, "and come back with men and guns enough to give those fellows a taste of their own medicine. Don't let any harm come to the air-ship, Jerrold. We're going to need her, later."

Just as Harris finished speaking, a bullet slapped into the motor and the machinery at once began to go wrong.

"Too late," responded Jerrold grimly; "they've already nipped us."

"Py chimineddy," roared Carl, "I vish I hat somet'ing vat I could shoot mit ad dem fillains!"

Limping and staggering, Jerrold managed to urge the Eagle out of harm's way.

"She won't drop on us, will she?" asked Harris, looking anxiously downward at the tree-tops.

"No," replied Jerrold, "the gas-bag is uninjured, so we can't fall; and the motor is working, too, after a fashion, and that enables us to make a slow rate of speed. But there will have to be some repairs before we can do anything more with the air-ship."

"Where'll we go to make them? Back to South Chicago?"

"Lake Station is nearer. We'll come down there and ascertain the extent of the damage. It may be that we shall have to go back to South Chicago if the injury is at all serious."

"All right," acquiesced Harris. "I'll be able to do some telephoning and get a few more men out here from headquarters. I'll have them bring rifles, and then we'll give Brady a set-to that he'll remember."

"I ditn't see Matt in der blace," mourned Carl.

"He may have been there," said Harris. "There were two sheds, and they may be keeping your chum a prisoner in one of them."

"Vell, vile ve're avay fixing oop der Eagle, meppy dose fellers pack dere vill fly off mit demselufs in der Hawk. Oof dey do dot, den ve vill have some drouple for our pains."

"We shall have to keep watch of the sky in the direction of the swamp," said Jerrold. "By doing that we can tell whether or not the Hawk gets away."

Carl made that his work.

"I don'd know how I can see mit der naked eye ven ve ged py Lake Sdation," he remarked.

"We'll have to hunt up a spyglass, or a pair of binoculars," suggested Harris.

"Vat oof der Hawk moofs pefore we ged dem?"

"Then we'll be up against it, and no mistake."

There was a lot of excitement in the little town of Lake Station when a real, sure enough air-ship descended close to the blacksmith shop. The whole population gathered and stared.

While Jerrold was busy tinkering with his crippled motor, Carl succeeded in finding an old-fashioned spyglass and climbed with it to the top of the highest building in town. There he perched himself on the edge of the roof and watched continually in the direction of Willoughby's swamp.

Meanwhile, Harris had been talking with police headquarters in South Chicago. As a result, three officers were detailed to catch the first train for Lake Station.

The repairs to be made to the Eagle were somewhat extensive, and taxed the capacity of the blacksmith shop. Had Jerrold been in his own workroom he could have fixed up the motor more easily and quickly, but to take the Eagle back to South Chicago would have resulted in a loss of time.

Hour after hour the inventor labored, helped by the blacksmith and eyed with wonder by the townspeople. The detail of officers arrived, and they could do nothing but wait until the Eagle was ready to carry them to the "island" in the swamp. Any attempt to reach the "island" on foot was hardly to be considered.

While Jerrold's labors were nearing completion, a yell from Carl called the attention of Harris.

"What's the matter with you?" he shouted.

Carl was dancing around on the roof top, waving the spyglass frantically.

"Come oop!" he cried, wildly. "Der Hawk is gedding avay mit itseluf! Ach, plazes, vat a luck!"

Harris made haste to reach the top of the building where Carl had been patiently waiting and watching.

"Pud der spyglass to your eye, Harris," said Carl, "und look off to der nort'. Ach, dose fellers haf made some ged-avays, und I bed you dey have dook Matt along!"

With the glass at his eye, Harris swept the horizon in the direction indicated by Carl. Finally he found what he was looking for—an oblong blot gliding through the heavens and proceeding in a northerly direction.

"That's the Hawk, all right," said he, in a tone of intense disappointment, "but why is it heading in that direction?"

"Prady vouldn't dare go pack by Sout' Chicago," said Carl. "I bed you somet'ing for nodding he has got anodder hang-oudt in dot tirections. Ach, vat vill I do for dot bard oof mine?"

Gloomily the two descended from the roof, and Carl returned the spyglass to its owner.

Half an hour later the Eagle was ready for flight, and the officers and Carl got aboard. It was decided to proceed to the swamp and look over the "island" and then, if nothing of importance developed, to return to South Chicago.

The Eagle's motor, apparently, worked as well as ever, and the four miles separating Willoughby's swamp from Lake Station were covered in record time.

As they neared the "island" the officers made ready to use their guns. There was no hostile demonstration, however, and not a soul was anywhere in sight. The Eagle descended, and the officers, accompanied by the anxious Carl, proceeded to make a search.

They found nothing but two meagerly furnished houses, apparently recently deserted. Silence reigned everywhere, ominous of events that had happened.

"Vell," said Carl, gloomily, "dis means dot I haf got to do some more looking for Modor Matt. Der gang haf made off mit him some more, und I vas so tisappointed as I can't dell."

For that matter, they were all disappointed—Jerrold in particular. Motor Matt had served Jerrold well, and the inventor had been anxious to make him some repayment in kind.

But there was nothing left for the air-ship party to do but to point the Eagle toward home. As the air-ship passed the rolling mills and came close to the balloon house where Brady had formerly housed the Hawk, it was observed by those in the car that the doors of the big building were closed, and that two officers had mounted guard in front of them.

"That means something," muttered Harris. "Drop lower, Jerrold, so I can talk with those two cops."

Jerrold descended until the top of the car was nearly on a level with the balloon house, and Harris leaned over the guard rail.

"Hello!" he called. "What are you fellows doing there?"

"Watching the air-ship," was the astounding answer.

"Do you mean to say that Brady's air-ship is in that balloon house?"

"Sure."

"Has Brady been captured?"

"Why, no. You went after him, didn't you?"

"We went after him, but he and his men fired on us and damaged our motor. We went to Lake Station to fix the machinery, and while we were there we caught sight of the Hawk, through a spyglass, making north. As soon as we could, we started for the swamp, but there was no one there. Naturally, we supposed that Brady and his gang had made their escape, and it's mighty surprising to hear that the Hawk is back in its old cage and didn't bring Brady along."

"The Hawk brought Motor Matt——"

Carl gave a yell and nearly fell out of the car.

"Modor Matt?" he shouted. "Vas you shdringing me, oder iss it shdraight goots?"

"I'm giving it to you straight," answered the officer on the ground. "Motor Matt got away from the swamp and brought two prisoners with him, in the Hawk. They were two of the men who robbed Jerrold of his plans."

"Zum lauderbach haben, mich shtets——" began Carl, singing loudly and then interrupting himself to gloat. "Dot's my bard vat dit dot! Yah, so! Leedle Modor Matt who iss alvays doing t'ings vat you don'd oxbect. He has shtarred himseluf some more, you bed you! Vere iss Modor Matt now, officer?" Carl called down.

"He took a train into Chicago—said he was behind his schedule for that five-day race. The two prisoners are at police headquarters."

"Well, by thunder!" muttered Harris, mopping his face with a red handkerchief, "that Motor Matt must be a regular young phenomenon!"

"I never heard of anything to beat him!" averred Jerrold.

"Und you nefer vill!" declared Carl. "He iss vone oof dose fellers vat can't be peat."

"You might take us to police headquarters, Jerrold," suggested Harris.

"Und you mighdt shtop on der vay py der railroadt sdation," piped Carl. "I vant to ged py Chicago so kevick as der nation vill led me."

When Carl next saw Matt, the young motorist was spinning around the great oval in a Jarrot machine, which he knew so well and had driven to victory in Kansas. The five-day race was not for one driver alone, but several drivers were to be at the steering wheel of each car. Matt had reached the Coliseum just in time to take his place in the racing schedule.

Every time Matt whirled around the oval, Carl had something to say to him, but it was not until evening that the boys were able to get together for a talk.

They decided between them that Brady, and those whom Matt had left on the "island," must have made their escape from the swamp by a secret route known only to themselves.

Where Harper, the driver of the Hawk was, was likewise a mystery to the police.

Matt had turned the bag of loot stolen from Hartz & Greer over to the police with instructions to say that it was recovered by Miss Brady, and that no reward would be accepted for its return.

"How you tink dot air-ship pitzness is, anyvays, Matt?" asked Carl, when the boys had had their talk out and were ready to crawl into bed.

"I like it," answered Matt, enthusiastically, "and I wish I could have more of it!"

His wish was destined to fulfillment, for, as events proved, his thrilling work in South Chicago and at Willoughby's swamp was but the beginning of a series of air-ship experiences. Matt may have congratulated himself with the thought that he was through with Hector Brady, but Brady was by no means done with Matt—as will be made clear in the story to follow.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (10) WILL CONTAIN

Motor Matt's Hard Luck;

OR,

THE BALLOON-HOUSE PLOT.

An Old Friend—A Trap—Overboard—Rescued—Buying the Hawk—Matt Scores Against Jameson—At the Balloon House—The Plot of the Brady Gang—Carl is Surprised—Helen Brady's Clue—Jerrold Gives His Aid—Grand Haven—The Line On Brady—The Woods by the River—Brady a Prisoner—Back in South Chicago.

MOTOR STORIES

THRILLING ADVENTUREMOTOR FICTION

NEW YORK, April 24, 1909.

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