CHAPTER II.
THE STAMPEDE.
It was the custom of the ranchers to keep their cattle in the hillsuntil they were nearly ready for market, then drive them down into SaltRiver Valley, turn them into the alfalfa-fields and let them fattenbefore shipment.
This herd of lean, brown cattle, wild as coyotes, had been started forthe grass-lands of the valley. Very little was required to start apanic among them, and this panic had hit them at the very worst placepossible on the entire drive.
With heads down, tongues protruding, foam flying from their openmouths, and horns knocking, the frenzied animals hurled themselvesonward. Even if the sight of the automobile had frightened them, therecould be no turning back for the leaders of the herd, pressed as theywere by the charging brutes in the rear. And, of course, the characterof the roadside, at that point, prevented any turning out or scattering.
All that lay between the boys and destruction was the speed of the car.If a tire blew up, or if anything went wrong with the machinery, thetidal wave of cattle would roll on over the car and its passengers.
"We're in fer it, fellers!" shouted Chub, who was in a good position tonote the full extent of the danger.
There was no hanging back on Motor Matt's part. He was on the highspeed, and caressing the throttle-lever as he steered.
"We're leaving 'em behind!" announced Clip. "Keep it up, Matt."
The red roadster was not only leaving the frightened herd behind, butwas coming up with the cowboy, hand over fist.
"We'll have to slow down!" called Matt, between his clenched teeth,his flashing gray eyes straight ahead; "if we don't, we'll run over theman on the horse."
Just then they turned a bit of an angle that gave them a glimpse ofWelcome Perkins. Faint sounds of the uproar behind had reached the oldman. Planted in the middle of the road, he was staring back, wondering,no doubt, why the horseman was tearing along at such a rate of speed,and why the red roadster was letting itself out on the back track. Butthe old man was not kept long in doubt. Through the haze of dust backof the automobile he saw the plunging cattle.
The next moment he went straight up in the air with a terrified yelland made a dash for the side of the road. As fate would have it, theroad at that point was hemmed in with banks too steep to be scaled;nevertheless, Welcome clawed frantically at the rocks.
"Stand whar ye are!" roared the cowboy. "I'll take ye up with me."
Welcome's peril struck wild alarm to the hearts of the boys. Theyrealized that if they had insisted on the old man getting into the carhe would not now be in that terrible predicament.
In order to get Welcome up behind him the cowboy had to throw himselfback on the bit and bring the horse to a quick halt. He leaned down tohelp Welcome up, and Welcome, who was almost as frenzied as the steers,gave a wild jump and grabbed saddle-horn and cantle. Under his weight,and the weight of the cowboy, which was temporarily thrown on the sameside, the saddle turned. Welcome dropped into the road, and his wouldbe rescuer pitched on top of him. The horse, thoroughly frightened,jumped away and continued his breakneck pace down the road.
Yells of consternation went up from Chub and Clip. Matt had beenobliged to bring the car almost to a halt while the cowboy was tryingto pick up Welcome. The leaders of the stampeding herd had comedangerously close.
"They're on us!" whooped Chub despairingly; "we're all done for!"
"Not yet," shouted Matt, sending the car ahead toward the place whereWelcome and the cowboy were scrambling to their feet. "Take 'em bothaboard! Quick on it, now, and we'll get away."
The car rumbled up abreast of the two in the road.
"Jump in!" shouted Clip; "hustle!"
Welcome threw himself into the front of the car and the cowboy made aflying leap for the rumble. Clip grabbed one and Chub caught the other.By then the foremost of the steers were almost nosing the rear of thecar.
Matt, without losing an instant, threw the lever clear over, and theroadster flung away like an arrow from a bow, on the high speed; then,a second later, he opened the throttle and the six purring cylinderssent the car along at a gait that was double that of the pursuingcattle.
"Wow!" panted Welcome, who had both arms around Clip and was hangingto him like grim death. "Keep holt o' me! I feel like every minute wasgoin' to be my next! Slow down a leetle, can't ye? If ye don't we'llbe upside down in the ditch! Whoosh! I'd ruther take chances with themsteers than ridin' a streak o' lightnin' like this. Br-r-r!"
Welcome was getting all the fast riding he wanted. The red roadsterwhipped and slewed around the curves, and leaped like lightning acrossthe straight-away stretches. Matt, cool as a summer day and as steadyas a clock, had eyes and ears for nothing but that terrible flight.
Two minutes sufficed to bring the car out of the hills and onto thelevel plains.
"All right, pard!" cried Chub from the rear; "slow down, now, wheneveryou please. The cowboys have got ahead of the herd and the leaders arebeginning to mill."
Matt slowed the pace to a ten-mile gait, and Welcome, with a gasp ofrelief, dropped in a limp huddle.
"Shade o' Gallopin' Dick!" he mumbled, pulling a sleeve across hisdripping forehead. "I've been in snug corners a-plenty durin' myhootin', tootin' career, but dadbinged if I ever had a closter callthan this here. When I uster ride," he added, with a sour look atthe cowboy in the rumble, "fellers useter know how to cinch up theirsaddles so'st they _stay_."
"The givin' way o' that saddle," returned the cowboy, "was the bestthing that ever happened to us. If I'd got you aboard that cayuse,Peg-leg, them cattle would hev nipped us, sure. The boss never couldhev carried double an' got us out o' the way. This here devil-wagon,"he finished, addressing the boys, "sartinly saved our scalps. I'mobliged ter ye fer what ye done."
"Where do those cattle belong?" asked Chub.
"To the Fiddleback outfit, same as me. I'm Josh Fresnay, an' I'm ridin'to town with the ole man's check fer ten thousand in gold ter pay offat the ranch. Got ter git ter the bank by three o'clock, 'r I won't beable ter git the money. I kin sojer back at any ole time ter-night,jest so'st the boys kin git their hooks on the dinero in the mornin'."
Chub introduced himself, Matt, Clip, and Welcome.
"Ye don't mean ter say," cried Fresnay, "that it's Motor Matt himselfthat made this devil-wagon cut that hole in the air?"
"Sure it is," laughed Chub. "Put him behind a motor an' you can betyour spurs there's somethin' doing."
"Waal, I reckon!" returned Fresnay enthusiastically. "Blamed fewfellers in this part o' the kentry hevn't heerd o' Motor Matt. He'sthe one that ketched Dangerfield, the feller that was smugglin' Chinksinter the kentry, an' helped Burke, the Prescott sher'f, wind up thegang. Shore I've heerd o' Motor Matt. Put 'er thar, son!" and Fresnayleaned over the back of the seat and offered Matt his hand.
The young motorist laughed as he gave the cowboy's hand a cordial shake.
"It's easy to get talked about, Fresnay," said he.
"That's right!" declared the cowboy. "Rob a bank, er save a gal fromgittin' run over by a train--almost anythin'll do ter make yer name ahousehold word. Now, as fer me----"
The cowboy broke off his remarks with a long whistle. He was standingin the rumble, holding himself upright by gripping the back of thetwo front seats. His eyes, traveling along the trail over the headsof Matt and Clip, had seen something which aroused his surprise andgratification.
"Waal, great horn spoons!" he cried. "If thar ain't Ole Beeswax, thatcayuse o' mine, I'm a sinner! I'll be hornswoggled if I ain't playin'in luck, this trip. I'll be able ter git out now, McReady," he added toChub, "an' give ye a leetle more room."
Some distance away the horse was being held in the road. A tall manhad the animal by the bridle. The man had a swarthy face, was roughlydressed, wore moccasins, and had evidently been footing it along thetrail.
As the red roadster came closer, Matt stared at the man keenly, and amuttered exclamation escaped his lips. As he brought the car to a halt,Matt's gaze swerved to C
lip.
Clip's eyes were like smoldering coals, and he was sitting rigidlyerect.
"Feller looks like a half-breed," murmured Welcome Perkins. "Got allthe earmarks o' one. Seein' as how he was travelin' afoot, it strikesme as some remarkable he didn't h'ist himself inter the saddle an' rideoff with that hoss. Half-breeds, as a rule, ain't got much regard ferother folk's property. Mebby he was intendin' to. I see he's got thesaddle back on top o' the hoss."
Fresnay tumbled out of the car and walked over to the half-breed.
"Hello, neighbor!" he called. "I see ye've caught up my hoss. He gotaway from me back there in the hills."
The half-breed grunted, swept his eyes over the cowboy and then overthose in the car, and stepped forward to lay the reins in Fresnay'shand.
"Heap easy to ketch um," said he.
Clip and Chub got out to stretch their legs. Welcome gurgleddelightedly as he sprawled himself in Clip's seat. Matt continued towatch the half-breed, but covertly.
Fresnay fished a silver dollar out of his pocket.
"I ain't got much dinero about my clothes, neighbor," he observed, "buthere's a cart-wheel fer yer trouble."
The half-breed grabbed the dollar, spun it in the air, caught it as itcame down, then slipped it into his pocket. As he drew out his hand,Matt saw something in it that looked like a folded paper--perhaps anote. The half-breed tried to conceal the paper in his palm, and Mattbelieved that he was the only one in the party who saw it.
While Fresnay was climbing to the back of the horse, the half-breed,tossing Matt a significant look, brushed past Clip and tucked thefolded paper into his hand with a quick, stealthy movement, thenwhirled, left the trail and strode quickly away. Clip, his eyes stillburning and with a strange look crossing his face, hid the paper deftlyin the pocket of his coat.
"Never did like a half-breed nohow," grunted Welcome. "They ain't terbe depended on, an' I makes it a rule to walk around 'em just as Iwould a rattler."
Clip shot a glance of angry defiance at the garrulous old man. For themoment Welcome had forgotten that Clip was a quarter-blood, himself.
Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the Comet Page 2