CHAPTER II.
WHAT NEXT?
"An elegant day--for ducks," said Joe McGlory, turning from the windowagainst which a torrent of rain was splashing. "I'd about got my nervescrewed up to the place where I was going to take a fly with you in the_Comet_, pard."
"Well," laughed Matt, "perhaps it will be a clear, still day to-morrow,Joe."
"The day may be all right, but whether I have the necessary amount ofnerve is a question. It takes sand to sit on a couple of wings and leta gasoline engine push you through the clouds. Sufferin' jack rabbits!Why, Ping, that little, slant-eyed chink, has got more sand than mewhen it comes to slidin' around through the firmament on a couple o'squares of canvas. I'm disgusted with myself, and that's honest."
"It's as easy as falling off a log," remarked Lieutenant Cameron, ofthe Signal Corps. "I've been up with Matt, and I know. He does all thework, McGlory. You won't have to do anything but sit tight and hang on."
"'Sit tight and hang on!'" echoed the cowboy. "Sounds easy, don't it?At the same time, Cameron, you know that if your hair ain't parted inthe middle, the overweight on one side is liable to make the _Comet_turn turtle."
"Hardly as bad as that," grinned Matt.
The three--Lieutenant Cameron, Motor Matt, and Joe McGlory--were inCameron's quarters in officers' row at the post.
One window of the room overlooked the parade ground and, if the weatherhad not been so thick, would have given a view of the old barracks,beyond. Another window commanded a prospect of the lake, just nowsurging high and lashing its waters against the foot of the bluff onwhich the fort stood.
The post was practically abandoned, and no more than a handful ofsoldiers were in possession. Most of these comprised a detail of theSignal Corps sent there for the try-out of the Traquair a?roplane withwhich Matt had acquitted himself so creditably.
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and all day long Matt andMcGlory had been housed up at the post on account of the storm.
Ping Pong, the Chinese boy, was watching the a?roplane, which was in abig shelter tent not far from the post trader's store.
The cowboy, grumbling over the cheerless prospect from each window ofthe room, finally returned to his rocking-chair and sat down.
"What next, Matt?" inquired Cameron. "You don't remain long in any oneplace, and I've been wondering when you'd leave here and where you'dgo."
"We're liable to break out in any old place on the map," said McGlory."That's what I like about trailing around with Pard Matt. You neverknow, from one week to the next, whether you're going to hang upyour hat in Alaska or Panama. It's the uncertainty and the vastpossibilities that hooked me."
"I haven't laid any plans," remarked the king of the motor boys. "Thefailure of the government to buy that a?roplane, after Joe and I hadput up a lot of money and time building it, leaves me with the machineon my hands. It's something of a white elephant."
"It needn't be a white elephant," returned Cameron. "You can crate the_Comet_ and leave it here at the post until you find a use for it. Theother a?roplane which you and Mrs. Traquair sold the war department isgoing to prove such a success that I am sure the government will beafter this one. It will take a little time. There's a certain amount ofred tape connected with the matter, you know."
"I'm hoping the government will buy the machine, but I don't feel likeleaving it in storage while we're waiting for the war department tomake up its mind."
"Why don't you go hunting for Murgatroyd?" inquired Cameron. "Thegovernment has offered a reward of one thousand dollars for hiscapture."
Murgatroyd had not only tried to wreck the first Traquair a?roplaneat the time of the government trials at Fort Totten, but he had alsoresorted to crime in an attempt to secure, from Mrs. Traquair, aquarter section of land in Wells County, which, for some mysteriousreason of his own, he was eager to get hold of. A deserter from thearmy, Cant Phillips by name, had assisted Murgatroyd in his nefariouswork; and, for that, Phillips was now on his way to Fort Leavenworth toserve out a long sentence in a government prison, and Amos Murgatroydwas a fugitive.
Matt and his friends had been drawn into these lawless plots of thebroker's, and Cameron supposed that, apart from the reward offered forthe broker's capture, the young motorist would be eager to see himbrought to book.
"I've lost interest in Murgatroyd," said Matt. "He's a scoundrel, andthe government is dealing with him. What I want to do is to put thea?roplane to some profitable use. It was damaged considerably, whenMurgatroyd brought it down with that rifle shot, and Joe and I havehad to put up about three hundred more good dollars for repairs. Nowthat it's all shipshape and ready to fly once more, I feel as though weought to make it earn something for us, instead of leaving it here atFort Totten in storage."
"A?roplanes are built to sell, aren't they?" asked the lieutenantquizzically. "How can you make any profit off them if you don't sellthem?"
"Well, for one thing," replied Matt, "a?ro clubs, in different partsof the world, are offering prizes for flights in flying machines.This machine of Traquair's, as you know, Cameron, is the best one yetinvented. It can go farther and do more than any other a?roplane on themarket."
"I guess that's right," agreed Cameron.
"However, I'm not thinking of flying for a prize. We'd have to go toEurope in order to get busy with a project of that sort, and I don'twant to leave the United States--at least, not for a while yet."
"I wouldn't go out of the country, Matt," said Cameron earnestly."You're under contract, you know, not to dispose of any of the Traquairpatents to foreign governments."
"I wasn't thinking of such a thing as that, Cameron. What I wasthinking of is this: Yesterday I received a letter from a show----one of these 'tented aggregations,' as they're called in thebills--offering five hundred dollars a week if we would travel with theoutfit and give two short flights each day from the show grounds----"
McGlory was on his feet in an instant, waving his hand above his headand hurrahing.
"That hits me plump!" he cried. "I've always wanted to do something ina show. Whoop-ya! Matt, you old sphinx, why didn't you say somethingabout this before?"
"I've been turning the proposition over in my mind," answered Matt."Frankly, I don't like the idea of traveling with a show so much as Ido the prospect of earning five hundred a week. I'll have to find out,too, whether the manager of the show is good for the money before I'lltalk with him."
"Are we going to St. Paul for an interview?"
"No, to Fargo. The show will make that town in about a week, and Iwired the manager that we would meet him there. The _Comet_ will carrytwo light-weight passengers in addition to the operator, so you andPing, Joe, will have to fly with me to Fargo. We can save railroad fareby going in the a?roplane, and that's why I want to get you accustomedto being in the air with the machine."
Cameron listened to Matt with an air that showed plainly hisdisapproval.
"You won't like the show business, Matt," he declared.
"I understand that," was the response, "but it's the salary thatappeals to me."
"Furthermore," continued Cameron, "the manager of the show willprobably dock your salary every time you fail to pull off a flight. Youknow how hard it is to bank on the weather. At least half of each week,I should say at a guess, you will find it too windy to go up."
"We'll have to have an understanding with the manager about that. Itwill have to be a pretty stiff wind, though, to keep me from flying.I've got the knack of handling the a?roplane, now, and a moderatebreeze won't bother me at all."
"The show's the thing!" jubilated McGlory. "Speak to me aboutthat, will you? The king of the motor boys and the _Comet_ will betop-liners. And _draw_? Well, I should say! Why, they'll draw thepeople like a house afire."
The first Traquair a?roplane--the one sold to the government after theFort Totten trials had been christened the _June Bug_ by McGlory; butthis one, built by Matt after the Traquair model, he had himself namedthe _Comet_. This name was to perpet
uate the memory of a motorcyclewhich Matt had owned and had used with telling effect in far-awayArizona.
"I'm sure I wish you all the luck in the world, Matt," said Cameronheartily, "although I tell you flat that this show project of yoursdoesn't commend itself to me worth a cent. However, you know yourown business best. You have demonstrated, beyond all doubt, thatthe Traquair a?roplane can travel across country equally as well asaround a prescribed course. This makes it possible for you to takeyour friends aboard and fly to Fargo, or to New York, if you wantto--providing the wind isn't too strong and nothing goes wrong with themachinery, but----"
Cameron did not finish. Just at that moment a rap fell on the door, andhe turned in his chair to ask who was outside.
"O'Hara, sor," came the response from the hall.
"What is it, O'Hara?"
"There's a little old man wid me, sor, who has just rained in fromMinnewaukon. He's as damp as a fish and about all in, sor, an' he'safther wantin' t' spake wid Motor Matt."
"Bring him in, at once."
The door opened and Sergeant O'Hara entered the room, half dragging andhalf carrying a water-soaked individual who dropped feebly into a chair.
"Prebbles!" exclaimed the king of the motor boys, starting back inamazement.