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MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE
MOTOR FICTION
NO. 24 AUG. 7, 1909
FIVE CENTS
MOTOR MATT ON THE WING
OR FLYING FOR FAME AND FORTUNE
_BY THE AUTHOR OF "MOTOR MATT"_
_Quick as a flash, Motor Matt caught the lieutenant's arm just in time to keep him from falling._]
_STREET & SMITH._ _PUBLISHERS._ _NEW YORK._
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Copyright, 1909, by_STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._
No. 24. NEW YORK, August 7, 1909. Price Five Cents.
Motor Matt On the Wing
OR,
FLYING FOR FAME AND FORTUNE.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. WANTED: A MAN OF NERVE. CHAPTER II. FOILING A SCOUNDREL. CHAPTER III. MATT MAKES AN INVESTMENT. CHAPTER IV. MATT EXPLAINS TO M'GLORY. CHAPTER V. PING AND THE BEAR. CHAPTER VI. A NEW VENTURE. CHAPTER VII. A PARTNER IN VILLAINY. CHAPTER VIII. MATT SHIFTS HIS PLANS. CHAPTER IX. DODGING TROUBLE. CHAPTER X. BLANKED. CHAPTER XI. SIWASH SHOWS HIS TEETH--AND HIS HEELS. CHAPTER XII. "UNCLE SAM" TAKES HOLD. CHAPTER XIII. ON THE WING. CHAPTER XIV. DASTARDLY WORK. CHAPTER XV. THE GOVERNMENT TRIAL. CHAPTER XVI. FAME--AND A LITTLE FORTUNE. TRICKED BY TWO. IDAHO TO FEED ELKS. NOISY AVIANS. FISH THAT CANNOT SWIM.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.
=Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.
=Ping Pong=, a Chinese boy who insists on working for Motor Matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable.
=Mrs. Traquair=, wife of the inventor, Harry Traquair, who lost his life by a fall from an a?roplane of his own invention.
=Amos Murgatroyd=, a mortgage shark who gets the Traquairs in his clutches and becomes a bitter enemy of Motor Matt.
=Siwash Charley=, a ruffian who becomes the tool of Murgatroyd in his desperate attempts to keep Matt from flying the Traquair a?roplane in the government trials.
=Lieutenant Cameron=, an officer in the Signal Corps, U. S. A., who proves to be the cousin of an old friend of Matt, and who nearly loses his life when the a?roplane is tested.
=Mr. Black=, a friendly real estate man of Jamestown, N. D., who owns an automobile which proves of good service to the king of the motor boys.
=Sergeant O'Hara=, a good soldier, but who indulges in a game of cards at an inopportune moment.
=Benner=, post trader at Fort Totten, a bluff person who falls into a trap laid by Siwash Charley.
=Jake=, a teamster for Benner, who uses a blacksnake whip in a novel, but effective way.
CHAPTER I.
WANTED: A MAN OF NERVE.
"Mr. Amos Murgatroyd?"
"My name."
Amos Murgatroyd whirled around in his office chair and measured hiscaller with a pair of little, gimlet eyes. The caller, at the sametime, was measuring Murgatroyd.
The young man who had entered the musty office of the loan broker andwas now undergoing his scrutiny, stood straight as a plumb line, hisshoulders squared, his lithe, well-set-up form "at attention." He worea cap, and his clothes were of dark blue and of a semi-military cut.
He was prepossessing in appearance, which, most decidedly, the loanbroker was not.
Murgatroyd's face was too lean and hard, his eyes too sharp and shifty,to give one a very exalted idea of his character.
The caller drew a folded newspaper from the breast pocket of his coatand laid it on the broker's desk.
"Are you the man who put that 'ad' in the paper?" inquired the youth.
Murgatroyd picked a pair of nose glasses off his vest, carefullyadjusted them, and lifted the paper. The following marked paragraphriveted his attention:
Wanted: A man of nerve, one who has had some experience with flying machines and can handle a gasoline motor. To such a person a chance is offered to fly for fame and fortune in a new a?roplane. Sand and sagacity absolutely essential. Call on or address, A. Murgatroyd, Brown Block, Jamestown, North Dakota.
The broker dropped the paper, leaned back in his chair, and swept theglasses off his nose. Tapping the glasses against the knuckles of hisleft hand, he continued to regard the youth.
"Well?" he growled. "It's my 'ad.' What of it?"
"I've come several hundred miles to answer it in person."
"You? Why, I advertised for a man, not a boy."
"What difference does that make, so long as I can do the work?"
Amos Murgatroyd had no answer for this, and his remarks took anothertack.
"Had any experience with a?roplanes?"
"No, but I have had a good deal to do with dirigible balloons.If you're hunting for a man who is experienced with a?roplanes,Mr. Murgatroyd, I guess you'll have to hunt for a long time.Heavier-than-air machines are only just beginning to come to the front,and the supply of experienced drivers is limited. It was the chance tofamiliarize myself with flying of that kind that brought me here."
Murgatroyd continued to tap reflectively with his glasses.
"Do you know that the man who invented the a?roplane fell with one ofthe machines and was killed?" he inquired.
"I heard that there had been an accident here, recently," was theanswer.
"That was ten days ago, over in the park. The a?roplane turned turtle,dropped fifty feet, and Traquair was badly smashed. He lived aboutfifteen minutes and wasn't able to speak a word. The machine maybe wrong in principle, I don't know that, but I've got to get somereliable person, who's not too much afraid of risking his neck, tolearn the machine and then give an exhibition for the government, up atFort Totten. The trial is set for two weeks from to-day. There's notmuch time, you see, to learn the ropes."
"I believe I could learn the ropes," said the other confidently. "Iseem to have a knack for picking up such things."
"If anything happens to you, your relatives may come at me for damages."
"So far as I know, Mr. Murgatroyd, I haven't any relatives."
The beady, gimlet eyes gleamed with undisguised satisfaction.
"You will have to sign a paper," went on Murgatroyd, "releasing mefrom all responsibility, financial or otherwise, in case any accidenthappens."
"I'm willing," was the cool response. "It can't be that you have verymuch confidence in your a?roplane, Mr. Murgatroyd."
"Solid ground is good enough for me. If man was intended to flyhe would have been born with wings. That's where I stand in thisa?ronautical game. Besides, Traquair invented the machine--I didn't;and the fact that Traquair was killed by his own invention doesn't giveme superlative confidence in it."
The youth wondered why Murgatroyd was taking such an interest in amachine that did not command his confidence. The next moment the brokerexplained this point.
"Traquair owed me money, and the machine was the only thing belongingto him that I could get hold of. If the test at Fort Totten issatisfactory, the war department will buy the a?roplane at a goodfigure. This is the only way I can get back the loan, you see?"
"What are you willin
g to pay for the work you want done?"
The youth's tone was chilling and business-like. He was anything butfavorably impressed with Murgatroyd.
"I won't pay a red cent," declared the broker. "I'll furnish thea?roplane, and you can use it for practice. If you please the wardepartment, and they pay fifteen thousand for the machine, we'll splitthe amount even. That's fair enough. I won't be throwing good moneyafter bad, and success or failure is put up to you."
"Is the machine you have the one that killed Traquair?"
Murgatroyd gave a choppy laugh.
"I should say not! There was nothing but kindling wood left of thatmachine. Traquair was intending to fly for the government, and he had amachine constructed especially for the purpose. It's in storage at FortTotten now. The machine he was using here was the first one he built.By the way, young man, what's your name?"
"King, Matt King."
Murgatroyd gave a grunt of surprise, jammed his glasses on his nose,and stared at his caller with renewed interest; then, suddenly, hepressed a push button at the side of his desk.
A clerk appeared, a wizened, dried-up little man, who came in with acringing air.
"Yes, Mr. Murgatroyd?"
"File 'K,' Prebbles. And dust it off. Why don't you go around thisplace with a duster, once in a while? The older you get, Prebbles, theless you seem to know."
The clerk winced. With a deferential bow, he turned and slunk out ofthe room. He returned in a few minutes, a duster in one hand and abattered letter file in the other. Murgatroyd took the file on his deskand sent Prebbles away with a curt gesture.
After a brief search through the file, the broker developed a number ofnewspaper clippings.
"That your picture?" he asked, holding up a clipping with anelectrotype reproduction of the king of the motor boys at the top of it.
"It's supposed to be," smiled Matt, wondering why this close-fistedbroker had gone to so much trouble to collect the clippings.
"You had a flying machine called the _Hawk_, quite a while ago, didn'tyou?" pursued Murgatroyd, studying the clippings.
"It was a dirigible balloon," explained Matt. "Correctly speaking, aflying machine is not a motor suspended from a gas bag."
"Quite right. I got these clippings from a clipping bureau in the East,and ever since I found this a?roplane on my hands I've been trying tolocate you. Finally I had to give up, and then it was that I put that'ad' in the paper. And now, here you come answering the 'ad'! Lookslike fate had something to do with this, eh?"
"Just a coincidence," answered Matt, "and not such a remarkablecoincidence, either. If you knew me better, Mr. Murgatroyd, you'dunderstand how anxious I am to become familiar with every sort ofmachine propelled by a gasoline motor. It's the coming power"--Matt'sgray eyes brightened enthusiastically--"and as motors are improved, andtheir weight reduced in direct ratio with the increase in the horsepower, the explosive engine will be used in ways as yet----"
"That's all right," cut in Murgatroyd, who was coldly commercial andas far removed from anything like enthusiasm as night is from day. "Agasoline engine is a noisy, dirty machine and smells to high heaven.But that's neither here nor there. Will you take hold of this a?roplanematter, learn how to run the Traquair invention, and then test it outat Fort Totten, two weeks from to-day?"
"I'll think it over," said Motor Matt.
He would not have taken a minute to consider the matter if he had beenmore favorably impressed with Murgatroyd.
"I can't wait very long for you to make up your mind," went on thebroker, visibly disappointed. "There's only two weeks between now andthe Fort Totten trials."
"I'll give you an answer by to-morrow morning," and Matt turned towardthe door.
"Fame and fortune are in your grasp," urged Murgatroyd. "Don't let 'emslide through your fingers."
Without answering, but nodding a good day to the broker, Matt steppedinto the outer room.
As he passed through this other office, he saw Prebbles on a highstool, humped over a ledger. The clerk's eye shade and little baldhead, and his thin, crooked body, gave him the grotesque appearance ofa frog, roosting on a stone, and getting ready to jump.
Matt passed on into the hall. Before he could descend the stairs heheard a hissing sound behind him. Turning, he saw the clerk standing inthe open door, touching his lips with a finger in token of silence.
Matt paused with his hand on the stair rail, and the clerk came glidingtoward him.
"Don't have anythin' to do with him," said Prebbles, in a tremulouswhisper; "he's a robber."
"Who's a robber?" returned Matt.
"Murgatroyd. He's a skinflint and hasn't any more heart than a stone.He's a robber, I tell you; and, anyhow, if you try to run that machineyou'll get killed. Traquair got killed, and he invented it, and knewmore about it than you can ever learn. If----"
A buzzer began to sound its call in the outer office. Prebbles whirledand shuffled away. Pausing at the door, he turned to repeat, in a stagewhisper:
"Leave him alone, I tell you. He's a robber, and you'll get killed."
Then Prebbles vanished, and Matt went thoughtfully down the stairs.