Chapter XVI

A BIT OF A BACKSET.

The preparing of the aëroplane for loading was not a difficult matter. The small front planes were removed, and lashed between the two larger planes. This narrowed the machine sufficiently so that it could be loaded into the car especially prepared for it.

After the machine had been safely stowed, the two tired lads went to their section in the sleeper. Burton was there, sitting under a lamp and hastily running over the contents of the basket.

"I guess it's all here," said he, dumping the silver and bills into the receptacle and closing the lid. "Anyhow, I'm too much fagged to bother any more with the stuff to-night. It's about time we all turned in, don't you think?"

"I'm Ready's whole family, when it comes to that," yawned McGlory. "Talk about your strenuous days! I think this has been a harder one than that other day we put in at Lafayette, Indiana. What do you say, Matt?"

"We seem to have worked harder than we did then, and to have less to show for it," said Matt.

"Less to show for it!" repeated Burton. "I don't know what you mean by that, son. It isn't every day you save your flying machine from a mad elephant and wrestle with a cobra on the Comet, in midair!"

"And it's not every day the Big Consolidated is held up, thieves captured, and dinero recovered, all before we leave town," supplemented McGlory.

"It was exciting enough," said Matt, "but it all seems so useless."

"The hand of Ben Ali was behind it all," remarked Burton, pulling off his shoes. "That villain ought to be run down and put behind the bars for ninety-nine years. You'll not be safe a minute, Matt, until he's locked up."

"I guess," ventured the king of the motor boys, "that Ben Ali, after this lesson, will keep away from me."

"I wish I could think so," said Burton.

"What'll you do with Dhondaram?" inquired McGlory. "You can't send him to jail in any other town for an offense he committed in Jackson."

"Sending him to jail is the last thing I'm thinking of," was Burton's response. "What I want is to induce him to talk. He may give us a line on Ben Ali that will enable Matt to keep away from the wily old villain."

"Don't hang onto Dhondaram on my account," said Matt. "I've told Ben Ali what to expect if he ever comes near me again."

"That's you!" exulted McGlory. "All your scare-talk, Burton, goes clean over Matt's head."

The showman pulled off his coat and leaned back in his seat reflectively. He did not seem to have heard McGlory's observation.

"I've got a notion," began Burton, "that——" He paused.

"What's the notion?" urged the cowboy. "It ain't like you to hang fire, Burton."

"Well," pursued Burton, "it's this way: I've got an elephant on my hands that can't be handled by any white trainer in the show. Dhondaram can handle the brute to the queen's taste. What's the answer?"

"You don't mean to say," expostulated Matt, "that you're going to keep Dhondaram with the show just to take charge of Rajah?"

"It's either that or sell the elephant," declared Burton.

"Then, sufferin' cats!" cried McGlory, "sell the brute. You're more kinds of a bungler, Burton, than I know how to lay tongue to. Keep Dhondaram with the show, and he'll do something, before you're through with him, that will hurt."

"I'll sleep on it," muttered Burton. "I've only got four elephants, and I need Rajah."

"Schust a minid, oof you blease," came the voice of Matt's Dutch pard from the aisle of the car.

Matt, McGlory, and Burton turned around and saw not only Carl, but Ping as well.

"What is it, Carl?" asked Matt.

"I vant to know somet'ing," Carl went on, "und dot iss, was I innocend or guildy? Vat you say, Misder Purton?"

"Oh, splash!" exclaimed Burton, "that was settled a long time ago. Andy Carter, the ticket man, admitted that he and the Hindoo were the thieves."

"Den Modor Matt don'd haf to vork four veeks for nodding, schust for me?"

"Of course not."

"Dot's all I vanted to know, oxcept somet'ing else."

"Well, what?"

"Der Hintoo brisoner iss in der blace vere Ping shleeps. Ping vants to go to ped, und I am to haf der ubber bert'. Vat iss to be dit mit der Hintoo?"

"Roll him into the aisle and let him lie there," replied Burton. "Put a blanket under him, if you want to, and give him a pillow."

"T'anks," said Carl, and the boys started away.

"Wait, Carl," called Matt. "There's a little something I want to know. How are you and Ping getting along together?"

"Finer as silk," grinned Carl. "He likes me pedder der more vat he knows me, und it's der same mit me. Shinks iss hardt to ondershtand, but I'm schust gedding ondo Ping's curves. He made a misdake in me, und now he feels pedder aboudt it. How iss dot, bard?" finished Carl, turning to the Chinaman.

"Awri'," answered Ping, although not very enthusiastically.

"That's the talk!" cried Matt heartily.

Two hours later, the second section of the show train was loaded and speeding on its way. All was quiet in the sleeping car, save for the snores of the tired men who occupied the bunks.

Perhaps it was two o'clock in the morning when an uproar filled the sleeper. There were yells, a revolver shot, the slamming of a door, and then a measure of quiet.

Matt thrust his head out of his berth and saw McGlory, equally curious and excited, looking out from the berth overhead. All up and down each side of the car were other heads.

"What's the matter?" asked Matt.

Boss Burton, in his underclothes, was standing in the aisle, a smoking revolver in his hand.

"Confound the luck!" he sputtered. "The Hindoo has made a getaway. I happened to wake up and to think about him, and took a look along the aisle from my berth, just to make sure he was safe. I thought I was dreaming, or had the blind staggers, or something, when I saw him sitting up. His hands were free and he was taking the rope off his feet. I grabbed my revolver from under my pillow and rolled into the aisle. Dhondaram had started for the door. I blazed away, did nothing but smash a window, and the Hindoo jumped from the train."

"Are you going to stop and put back after him?" inquired Archie Le Bon.

"I guess I won't, although losing the fellow is a bit of a backset," observed Burton regretfully.

"The show can stand all the backsets of that kind that come its way, Burton," said Harris.

"What will we do for somebody to manage Rajah?"

"Oh, hang Rajah!" said another of the Le Bon brothers. "I hope the first section runs into the ditch and smashes the brute. He came within one of killin' Archie, back there in Jackson."

It was the general opinion, as the occupants of the various berths drew sleepily back into their beds, that it was a good thing Dhondaram escaped.

"Wonder just how much that bit of a backset means for us, pard?" McGlory inquired of the king of the motor boys before dropping back on his pillow.

"Nothing, I hope," was the response.

"We'll know for sure, I reckon, before we're many days older," muttered the cowboy as he straightened out in his bed and returned to his dreams of cobras and charging elephants.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (29) WILL CONTAIN

Motor Matt's Make-up;

OR,

PLAYING A NEW RÔLE.

High Jinks in the Side Show—The "Barker" Shows His Teeth—The Man from Washington—A Clue in Hindustanee—Something Wrong—A Blunder in the Right Direction—The House with the Green Shutters—The Pile of Soot—Matt Meets an Old Acquaintance—Rescue!—Bill Wily Repents—Matt Lays His Plans—Motor Car and Aëroplane—The Oak Opening Aëroplane Wins—Conclusion.

MOTOR STORIES

THRILLING ADVENTUREMOTOR FICTION

NEW YORK, September 4, 1909.

TERMS TO MOTOR STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS.

(Postage Free.)

Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.

3 months65c.

4 months85c.

6 months$1.25

One year2.50

2 copies one year4.00

1 copy two years4.00

How to Send Money—By post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter.

Receipts—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once.

Ormond G. Smith, George C. Smith, }Proprietors. STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City.