CHAPTER XII.
FORTY-EIGHT HOURS OF DARKNESS.
Motor Matt had never felt in better spirits, worn and weary though hewas, than when he had climbed the stairs to his room that Saturdayevening. He had gone over the course three times that day, and thecylinders of the Number Thirteen had pulled nobly. There had been alittle tire trouble during the first two rounds, but nothing had gonewrong on the last circuit, and Trueman had held the watch on him. Hehad done the fifty-two miles in less than an hour.
"You'll improve on that," Trueman had said, "when you've got a man infront of you to overhaul. There'll be twelve ahead of you at the start,and among the twelve will be two of the fast Stark-Frisbie cars and oneof the Bly-Lambert machines as pacemakers."
Matt was well pleased with the prospect. Every car entered for the racehad passed under his scrutiny, and he felt positive the chance for theNumber Thirteen to win was excellent.
Sitting in a comfortable chair in his room, he rang for his ice-waterand fell to going over the course of the race in his mind. Every footof the road was plainly mapped before him.
The water came and he took a long drink. Perhaps the very chill of itserved to disguise the slightly astringent taste caused by the drug. Atany rate, he did not notice that anything was wrong.
Carl came by, rapped on the door and said good-night. While Mattlistened, Carl's feet seemed to go on and on along the hallinterminably. It was a queer delusion, and Matt shook back hisshoulders and laughed softly.
"I mustn't let this race get on my nerves so much," he said to himself."Nerves are bad things for a racing-driver. I'm tired out, and I guessI'll turn in."
He started toward the bed, and that was the last thing he rememberedfor some time.
When he came to himself he saw glittering little lights above him. Atfirst he thought he was dreaming, and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Even then he thought he was dreaming, his surroundings were sodifferent from what they should have been--from what he had everyreason to expect them to be.
The lights far over his head were stars--or seemed to be stars. He wasout-doors, and had been lying on a heap of straw at the bottom of astack. On his right was a large barn, and beyond the barn were theshadowy outlines of a house.
These odd discoveries confused and bewildered Matt. What sort ofwitchcraft was here? A moment before, as he reckoned the time, he hadstarted for bed in his room at the hotel. Now he woke up in a heap ofstraw, out of doors and apparently on somebody's farm.
Staggering to his feet, he leaned heavily against the side of thestraw-stack and drummed his knuckles against his forehead. A horribleillusion gradually took hold of him. Had he been in an accident withthe racing-car? Was he just recovering from the effects of a bad smash?
His brain seemed a bit hazy, but otherwise he appeared to be as wellas ever. Stepping away from the stack, with the view of making furtherinvestigations, he stumbled over something. Picking up the object, hefound it to be his satchel.
This added a further mystery to his situation. He had evidently leftthe hotel with the intention of going somewhere to stay for a while.
In the dim light his satchel looked frayed and worn, as though it hadseen hard usage. His clothes, too, from what he could see of them,offered the same evidence of wear and tear.
"Well, great guns!" he muttered. "I wish somebody would kindly explainhow I came to be here! And while the explaining is going on, I wishsomebody would let me know whether I am really Matt King or anotherfellow. This would read like a page out of the 'Thousand and OneNights.' I'll just go up to the house and ask where I am."
The next moment he changed his mind about going to that particularhouse. A vicious bulldog rushed out at him, and he got over a near-byfence with more haste than grace. Picking up a stone, he drove the dogback, then stepped off toward another house which he could see in thedim distance.
All the while he was moving about, his mind was grappling with thesituation--and carrying him nowhere. Had his mind been unbalanced? Hadhe lost his reason in some strange manner and only just recovered it?
This was a terrible thought, but it was the only explanation thatoccurred to Matt.
There was no dog at the next house, and he walked up to the front doorand rapped loudly. A long time elapsed, and then a window was thrownopen in the second story and a head was poked out.
"Who in the name o' goodness is bangin' at my front door at this timeo' night?" demanded a fretful voice.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," answered Matt, "but I've lost my way andwould like you to tell me how far I am from Ottawa."
"Ottawa?" returned the voice. "Well, you're twenty miles from Ottawa,an' four miles from Lawrence."
"Twenty--miles!" gasped Matt.
"That's it. Lawrence is right ahead over that hill yonder. It's purtydark, but I guess that hill's plain enough. Anythin' else I can tellyou? Now I'm up I might as well tell you all you want to know."
"What time is it?" asked Matt in a subdued voice.
"Goin' on four o'clock in the mornin'."
"What morning? Sunday?"
"Say, but you're dumb! Tuesday morning--the day of the race at Ottawa.My boy Joe went down yesterday to see it--all dumb foolishness, too,as I told him. Them automobiles'll go by so tarnation fast he won'tbe able to see 'em. Jest a-buzzin' like a swarm o' bees, a whiff ofgasoline, an' that's all."
Matt was so astounded that he heard little of what the farmer had beensaying. He had gone to bed in Ottawa on Saturday night, and here itwas four o'clock Tuesday morning and he was four miles from Lawrence.He had been plunged in oblivion for forty-eight hours--but _how_, and_why_?
"Hey, down there!" shouted the farmer. "You gone to sleep?"
"No," called back Matt, recovering himself with a start; "do you wantto make ten dollars, friend?"
"How?" asked the man suspiciously.
"By hitching up and driving me to Ottawa."
"Sho! That's a heap o' money to spend for a ride. Why, you can walk toLawrence and ketch a train. Then t'll only cost you fifty cents to getto Ottawa."
"Can I get a train between now and seven o'clock?"
"I head one whistlin' every mornin' about six-thirty or seven, butwhether it's goin' or comin' from Ottawa I don't know. Anyhow, Icouldn't leave. My boy's away an' I got to stay home an' do the work."
"All right," said Matt; "much obliged."
"Sure you ain't from the Ossawatomie Insane Asylum? You talk kinderqueer, seems like."
"I don't know but I ought to be in Ossawatomie," answered Matt as hestarted off down the road.
The window closed with a bang.
"Well," murmured Matt, striding along the road toward the hill, "whatdo you think of that! I've lost two whole days--haven't a notion whatI've been doing in all that time. Wonder what's been going on inOttawa? I was to meet Trueman Sunday morning for a talk. What'll hethink? And Carl! Great Scott! I wonder if they'll get the idea I've runaway? The race starts at eight o'clock, and I'll have less than fourhours to get to Ottawa! What if I can't catch a train?"
The possibility of missing the race bothered him more than the cause ofhis predicament.
As he strode along the quiet country highway the cool night air beatagainst his face and freshened his wits. He began wondering if Sercomband his gang hadn't had something to do with his mysterious departurefrom Ottawa? That was the only way he could account for what hadhappened.
A steely resolution arose in his breast. He would get to Ottawa, and hewould get there in time to drive the Jarrot car. If Sercomb had plottedagainst him, then he would beat the scoundrel at his own game.
It was nearly five o'clock when Matt reached the Lawrence railroadstation. There was no train to Ottawa, the nightman told him, untilhalf-past nine in the morning--neither passenger nor freight.
Matt was dumfounded.
"I was told that there was a train at six-thirty, or seven," said he.
"Sure," answered the nightman, "but it goes the other way."
"Th
is is tough luck!" exclaimed Matt. "You see," he explained, "I'm todrive a car in that race this morning, and the first car starts off ateight. My car is Number Thirteen. There's a two-minute interval betweeneach car, and that starts me about twenty-four minutes after eight. Howfar is Ottawa from here?"
"Twenty-four miles."
"Any way I can get there in time for the race?"
"You couldn't get there with a horse an' buggy, that's sure. There'sa gasoline speeder in the shed, and the track-inspector sleeps ont'other side the yards in Hooligan's boarding house. You might get theinspector to take you down."
Here was a ray of hope. Matt inquired hastily how to find Hooligan'splace, and set out to get the inspector. He was an hour getting theman, and another half-hour getting him to agree to run the speederto Ottawa. Matt had to promise the inspector twenty-five dollars formaking the trip. Another half-hour was lost filling the speeder's tankand getting the machine ready for the road, and the sun was risingbefore they chugged off along the glimmering rails.
The motor had a chronic habit of misfiring, and there were numberlessstops ranging in length from one minute to ten while the machinery wastinkered with.
The entrance to Forest Park was not more than a stone's throw from therailroad track, and as the speeder came close to the town Matt sawthe first car leap through the gap in the fence and bear away in thedirection of the river road.
It was Number One, a Stark-Frisbie car, with Joe Mings at thesteering-wheel!
Matt had twenty minutes, perhaps, left him for getting to the track.
Throwing himself from the speeder at the point nearest the entranceto the park, he flung wildly away through the press of vehicles andpedestrians.
Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward Page 12