Chapter 2 A QUEER SITUATION.

Motor Matt was never long about making up his mind as to what he was going to do. In the present instance an expedient flashed through his brain which might, or might not, succeed.

The rope which had been used to hoist the aeroplane to the staging on the pole was a long one. As Matt ran through the gate, he flung the noose which he had tied in the rope over a hitching-post, and then leaped across the road.

By that time the four horses had crossed the bridge and were thundering on toward the front of the house. Matt, holding the rope firmly, stretched it so as to bring it across directly in front of the leaders.

Clipperton, instantly divining Matt's plan, started toward him, with the intention of helping him hang onto the end of the rope. But Matt had other plans for him and Chub.

"Keep back, Clip!" he yelled. "When I make 'em slow down, you and Chub grab the bits."

Just then the front wheels of the wagon separated from those in the rear. The "reach" went on with the forward axle, and the back wheels spun around, dashed across the road, and smashed into the fence. The end of the "reach" had struck the ground with terrific force, and the girl was dragged along with it.

Why didn't she let go? was the thought that plunged through Matt's mind. The next moment he had no time to think or to do anything else but give his attention to the work in hand.

There was a shock like an earthquake as the front horses of the team hit the rope. Matt, clinging like grim death to the stout hemp, was jerked into the air and hurled forward and inward. The pace of the leaders was checked, and the wheel-horses tried to play leap-frog with them, the result being that the whole team became entangled in the harness.

Clip and Chub, throwing themselves at the heads of the leaders, grabbed the bits. Before the rope was pulled from Matt's hands, the horses were at a standstill.

As soon as Clip and Chub had the team in hand, Matt ran to the girl. She was lying on the ground close to the end of the "reach" and an exclamation escaped Matt's lips when he saw that she was tied to the piece of timber that had connected the front wheels with those behind.

"Is she hurt?" called Clip.

"She must be," answered Matt. "I don't see how she could go through what she has without being hurt-and badly hurt at that. She's unconscious. Some one tied her to the wagon."

He went down on his knees, and, with his pocket-knife, severed the rope that secured the girl to the "reach."

He was about to pick her up in his arms when a panting voice called out to him:

"Leaf her alone! I will be taking care of her."

Matt straightened on his knees and looked at the speaker. The man was a Mexican, and had a surly, ill-omened face. He was covered with dust, and had evidently been racing after the team on foot. Behind him another Mexican was coming.

The little girl was American-Matt could tell that by her looks. That being the case, why was she with the two Mexicans? And why had she been tied to the wagon?

"Does the team belong to you?" demanded Matt.

"Yas, he b'long to me. I left him by de store, an' he git scare' an' make a run off. Carramba! He bust my wagon all up. I take care of de girl, se?or. She hurt, huh?"

The other Mexican, scarcely giving a look at the girl, passed on to the horses and began to pound them with a stick that he was carrying. His attack was so brutal that Clip grabbed the stick out of his hand, and would have laid it over his back if Chub had not interfered.

"Cut it out, Clip," said Chub. "The greaser don't know any better. About half o' these wood-haulers ain't any more'n half-baked."

"He'll have the team running again," scowled Clipperton. "He ought to have some sense pounded into him."

Meanwhile, Matt, paying no heed to the other Mexican, had picked up the little girl and was carrying her toward the gate. The Mexican ran after him and grabbed his arm.

"You gif her to me!" he shouted.

"This is the most ungrateful outfit of greasers I ever met up with," cried Clip, hurrying toward the second man. "That'll do for you!" he said angrily, catching the fellow by the collar and throwing him back.

The Mexican whirled, his little eyes glittering like a snake's. One hand darted toward the breast of his coat.

"Look out Clip!" warned Chub. "He's going to pull a knife on you."

Clip still had the club he had taken from the Mexican's companion, and he squared away threateningly. There was a scar in the shape of a cross on the man's swarthy cheek, and it glowed redly with the anger that filled him.

Before the clash could proceed any farther, a man came galloping up on horseback. The boys recognized him at once as Mr. McKibben, the sheriff. The Mexicans also seemed to recognize him, for the one by the horses slunk in between the animals' heads, and the other at once lost his truculent manner.

"What's going on here?" demanded McKibben, peering sharply at the Mexican, and then swerving his gaze to Matt and the unconscious form in his arms.

"The team ran away, Mr. McKibben," explained Matt, "and this girl was tied to the 'reach.' It looks as though she was badly hurt. I want to carry her into the house and this fellow was trying to take her away from me."

"H'm!" muttered the sheriff, getting down from his horse, "it's a cinch the girl don't belong to them." He stepped closer to the Mexican, his eyes on the scar. "Where'd you get the girl?" he demanded, one hand groping in his pocket.

"The ni?o?" returned the Mexican shiftily. "She b'long to a friend of mine, se?or. I take her to him. I no like to leave her here."

The sheriff's hand came out of his pocket with a rush, bringing a pair of handcuffs along with it. In less time than it takes to tell it, one of the cuffs was about the Mexican's right wrist, while the other was snapped about McKibben's left.

The Mexican gave a backward jump, but the sheriff, with a pull of the arm, drew him back with a jerk that almost lifted him off his feet. Once more the Mexican's hand was plunged into the breast of his coat. It was the left hand this time, however, and he was awkward in using it. McKibben's fingers gripped the wrist of the hand as it was withdrawn and shook a knife out of it.

"None of that, Juan Morisco!" growled McKibben. "You see, I know you. I've had you watched ever since you reached town, so you'll just walk along with me and not make any trouble about it."

There was a rattle of hoofs up the road.

"The other one's making a getaway, Mr. McKibben," sang out Chub excitedly. "He took one of the horses and-- Holy smoke, watch him go!"

The sheriff turned and flashed a look after the retreating horseman.

"I can follow him," said Clip. "I'll use your horse."

"Let him go," answered McKibben. "He's only the wood-hauler. This is the man I want. Take the girl into the house, King," he added. "You might ride my horse to the corral, Clipperton, and get a doctor."

"Do you know anything about this girl?" asked Matt, looking down at the head that was lying limply over his arm.

"Not a thing; but I'll bet money there's crooked work of some kind going on. The girl didn't belong with these Mexicans."

"If they hadn't tied her to the wagon," said Matt, "she would have got clear of that accident without being so badly hurt."

"We'll get Juan in the sweat-box and find out about it."

"What have you pinched the greaser for, Mr. McKibben?" asked Chub.

"Don't get so curious, McReady," parried the sheriff. "Hitch those three horses to the fence, and I'll send some one after them and the wreck of the wagon. Do what you can for the girl, King."

Clip got on the sheriff's animal and started for the bridge; Chub went to the horses which, by that time, had quieted down, and started toward the fence with them; McKibben took his prisoner toward town; and Matt pushed on through the gate and into the house.

This was a mysterious affair from start to finish, and he was wondering what would come of it.

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