Chapter XVI

MATT REPORTS TO THE GOVERNOR.

It was half-past five that afternoon when the Comet came to a halt at the steps of the capitol building. Motor Matt, in no very cheerful frame of mind, got off the machine and made his way to the governor's office.

"Why, it's King!" smiled the secretary, meeting him in the outer room.

"Is the governor here yet?" asked Matt.

"Yes, and expecting you. Mr. McKibben is with him. The governor usually goes home at half-past four, but he stayed later to-day, expressly to get your report. Just a minute."

The secretary went to the door of the private office, knocked, and vanished inside.

"Go right in," said he, when he had reappeared.

Cap in hand, Motor Matt passed into the other room. Governor Gaynor met him at the door with a warm handclasp.

"Motor Matt, King of the Motor Boys!" exclaimed the governor, leading Matt to a chair. "Sit down, my lad," said he. "I'm not going to let you get away from here for quite a while."

Matt pulled the envelope from his pocket.

"There, governor," said he, handing it over, "that will tell you what time I made on that 'century' run."

Governor Gaynor read the penciled words on the back of the envelope, and laughed. Then he passed the writing on to McKibben. The sheriff chuckled.

"What's the matter with it?" asked Matt, puzzled.

"Didn't you read it?" asked McKibben.

"Haven't had much time to read it, Mr. McKibben, since the sheriff gave it to me."

"Listen," and the sheriff read the following:

"'Governor: This will certify that Motor Matt delivered your message to me at five minutes of five, of the same day he carried it out of Phœnix. It will also certify that he made the pluckiest and most successful hundred-mile run ever pulled off in the Southwest. You ought to make him your official courier, at ten thousand a year.

Burke.'"

Matt flushed.

"Oh, I don't know that the trip was anything to brag about," said he. "Luck was with me—and the Comet can go."

"Luck and pluck have a way of moving along together," said the governor, taking a roll of bills from the desk and handing them to Matt. "There's your hundred. But for your work, Matt, Burke would have been helpless. I am pleased to say that there'll be a thousand more coming to you just as soon as a few formalities can be attended to. You won't leave for Denver until after that?"

"Had I ought to take that reward-money, governor? I don't feel right about it, somehow."

"Well, bless my soul!" exclaimed the governor. "It's good money, and well-earned."

"What's more, Dangerfield himself wants you to have it," put in McKibben. "It's the queerest situation I ever went up against, governor," he added, turning to Gaynor. "In spite of the fact that Matt captured Dangerfield and brought him in, the boy seems to have made a bigger hit with Dangerfield than with any one else."

"I didn't really capture him, Mr. McKibben," protested Matt. "Dangerfield was coming to Phœnix, anyway."

"Well, he's trying to help you to the tune of a thousand dollars, and you'd better let him. Of course," went on McKibben whimsically, "Sparks and I can use the money if you can't."

"There—there'll be some expenses on Rags' account," said Matt, "and I want those to come out of the money."

The governor leaned back in his chair and studied Matt thoughtfully.

"You're a queer one, Matt," said he, "and your sentiments are an honor to you. Let it go that way, McKibben," he added to the sheriff.

"Sure!" said the sheriff heartily.

"And now," went on the governor, handing McKibben a cigar and lighting one for himself, "tell us the whole thing, Matt, from start to finish. Don't leave anything out. I don't care if I never get supper."

Matt plunged into the recital. There were parts of it he tried to glide over, but neither McKibben nor Gaynor would let him. One or the other was always ready with an adroit question which brought out the whole story.

"Why," said the governor, when Matt had finished, "that 'century' run alone was enough to make you famous, but the finest part of your work was the way you came in with Dangerfield."

"You can't beat it!" declared McKibben. "I need a deputy sheriff, Matt. How'd you like the job?"

Matt shook his head. The sheriff was joking, and Matt knew it. Anyhow, one job like that he had just finished was enough for Matt.

"I'm going to need a secretary pretty soon," remarked the governor; and he was in earnest, even if the sheriff had not been. "How would you like that job?"

"I'd like it fine," answered Matt, "if there was a gasoline motor mixed up in it."

"I wish there were," murmured the governor, "for I can see where your work is cut out for you." He got up and took his hat. "I'll see you again before you start for Denver. It will probably be a few days before that thousand will be turned over."

They left the office together, and the governor got into his automobile at the curb.

"What will they do with Dangerfield, Mr. McKibben?" inquired Matt, as he got ready to ride home on the Comet.

"He'll stand trial, along with the six men captured by Burke," replied the sheriff. "All of them will get good, long terms in a government prison. Also," added the sheriff, "the two rascals who got out of town ahead of you in that red roadster will have a chance to explain matters. I'm holding the car, and they'll have to come to me after it."

The red roadster was never claimed. Probably this is not to be wondered at, considering the difficulties the two men would have gotten themselves into had they shown up at the sheriff's office.

Who the men were was never discovered. They had been boarding in an obscure hotel, and had kept the machine in a private garage. It was supposed that they were criminals of some sort, and, if not actually allied with the Dangerfield gang, had been commissioned by the leader to keep watch of the sheriff.

Yet, be that as it might, both men vanished from Frog Tanks and were never afterward located.

Two days later Ollie Dangerfield was laid away under the palms and umbrella-trees in the Phœnix cemetery.

Susie, Chub, Welcome, Matt, Clip, and many others of the townspeople attended the funeral. The little girl's story had become known through the town, and had excited much interest and a good deal of sympathy for Dangerfield.

During the days that followed, and while Matt was waiting for the reward, a great plan had formed itself in Clipperton's brain. He called on Matt at Mrs. Spooner's, and placed it before him in all its dazzling grandeur.

"That red roadster is a fine car, Matt," said Clip. "You ought to know. What do you say?"

"It's a fast car," answered Matt guardedly. "Why, Clip? What of it?"

"Suppose nobody claims it? What will be done with it?"

"Give it up."

"Couldn't it be bought? Ought to be a bargain."

"Look here!" cried Matt, starting up in his chair. "What are you trying to get through your head, anyhow?"

"Why, it would be a heap easier for us. On that Denver trip, I mean. If we could get hold of that——"

"That's a dream, old chap," laughed Matt. "Where's the money to come from?"

"You'll have some. I can raise as much, I reckon."

A motor-car!

Matt's enthusiasm must have shown in his face. He knew Clip's project was impracticable, for, even if they could raise money enough between them to get the red roadster, it would have been madness to put all their funds into such a venture.

"We can do it, Matt!" cried Clip excitedly.

"No, Clip," returned Matt, coming down to earth again, "we can't do it. We'd look nice with all our money tied up in an automobile, wouldn't we? Get your machine fixed——"

"I've had it fixed."

"Well, the motor-cycles ought to be good enough for us."

"Don't you ever want an automobile? Wouldn't you rather have it than a motor-cycle?"

"Sure; but we can't afford to own one. By the way, just to change the subject a little, I've got something here that'll interest you."

Matt took a folded paper out of his pocket.

"What is it?" inquired Clip, stepping to Matt's side.

"Just a minute, Clip," said Matt. "Did I tell you that Dangerfield gave me a note, there in the notch, on our way to Phœnix, and told me to read it any time after we reached town?"

Clip nodded.

"Well, I just read that note an hour ago. Most of the things we couldn't understand about Dangerfield have been cleared up, but here's a new mystery."

"You say it concerns me?" asked Clip, surprised.

"In a way, yes. Read it, and you'll see how."

Clip opened the note. It ran as follows:

"Motor Matt: In a few days one of my men, named Pima Pete, will try to get your help in a certain undertaking. It's an honest undertaking, too, and I advise you to do what you can. You will find it profitable to yourself.

Bascomb."

The name of Pima Pete brought a flush to Clipperton's face.

"If Pete shows himself," said he, "he'll be arrested."

"I guess he knows that, all right," answered Matt. "Whatever the work is, he may find a way of asking my help without doing it in person."

"Will you help him?"

"That depends, Clip. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"As you say," said Clipperton, "it's a thing that interests me. Promise me one thing: That you'll give me a chance to help Pima Pete myself, in case you hear from him."

"I had already made up my mind to that, Clip," replied Motor Matt. "It may be a false alarm, though, and nothing come of it."

Clip shook his head.

"I don't think Dangerfield is in the habit of giving false alarms. Something is going to happen. And soon."

Whether Clip would prove a true prophet or not, only the future could tell, but Matt, having won out, did not mean to borrow trouble, and so, boylike, let the morrow take care of itself.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (4) WILL CONTAIN

MOTOR MATT'S RACE

OR,

The Last Flight of the Comet.

Trouble On the Road—The Stampede—Clip's Note—McKibben's Tip—A Victim of Circumstances—The Pride of Tom Clipperton—Laying Plans—The Rifled Cache—The Break in the Road—Prescott—Matt Makes a New Move—The Old Hopewell Tunnel—Quick Work—Steam vs. Gasoline—In Court—Conclusion.

MOTOR STORIES

THRILLING ADVENTUREMOTOR FICTION

NEW YORK, March 13, 1909.

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