FOOLING THE COWBOYS.

"If you're bound to make Motor Matt take you to the ranch, Spearman," said McGlory, "that means that the chink and me'll have to wait here till you get back."

"Which is what I was expectin'," answered Spearman. "I don't want ter feel cramped in that thar machine."

"The rest of you will have to give the machine a start down the hill," went on McGlory innocently. "When the craft gets a start, and is in the air, you'll have to watch your chance, Spearman, and jump aboard."

"Jump on when she's goin' sixty miles an hour?" howled Spearman. "Say, what d'ye think my scalp's wuth?"

"It won't be going sixty miles an hour," parried McGlory.

Matt had already taken his seat in the Comet.

"Why kain't I git in thar with him," asked Spearman, "an' travel with the machine right from the start?"

"Sufferin' centipedes!" exclaimed McGlory, in well-feigned disgust. "Say, I reckon you don't savvy a whole lot about flyin' machines. She's got to have a runnin' start, as light as possible; then, when she begins to skyhoot, you climb aboard. I guess you don't want to take a trip aloft."

"Guess again," cried Spearman. "I kin jump some, if it comes ter that, only"—and here he turned to Matt, who was quietly waiting—"fly low an' slow."

"All of you have got to help," proceeded Matt's cowboy pard briskly. "Lay your guns away, somewhere, so you can give both hands to your work."

None of the cowboys had six-shooters, but all were armed with rifles. This was rather odd, but, nevertheless, a fact. When they started out after George Hobbes, the Tin Cup men had been counting on target practice at long range.

The horses had already been bunched with their heads together. Four of the cowboys, who were still holding their rifles, stepped hilariously over to where Slim and Spearman had deposited their guns, and dropped their weapons.

McGlory gave Ping a significant look. The young Chinaman stared blankly for a moment, and then a complacent grin settled over his yellow face. He was as sharp as a steel trap when it came to understanding guileful things. Ping knew what was expected of him, and he was ready.

The Comet was headed down the western slope of the hill. Four of the cowboys placed themselves at the lower wings, two on each side, ready to run with the machine when they received the word. Spearman, in his shirt sleeves, was tying one end of a riata to the timber which passengers in the aËroplane used as a footrest.

"What are you doing that for?" demanded Matt.

Spearman straightened up with a wink.

"Waal, it's fer two things, pilgrim," he answered jocosely. "Fust off, by hangin' ter the rope, Slim an' me kin pull while the rest o' the boys push. Then, ag'in, if ye've got any little trick up yer sleeve, I'll have a line on yer ole sky sailer an' ye kain't leave me behind, not noways."

That rope troubled Matt, but he could voice no reasonable objection to it. Already McGlory had played on the credulity of the punchers to the limit, and it was not safe to go much farther.

"I'm goin' ter have yer job, Jed," rallied one of the cowboys, "if ye fall outen the machine an' bust yer neck."

"Don't ye take my job till I'm planted, Hen, that's all," grinned the foreman. "I been wantin' a new sensation fer quite a spell, an' I guess here's the place whar I connect with it."

If the plans of Matt and his friends worked out successfully, Jed Spearman was to "connect with a sensation" vastly different from what he was expecting. McGlory was chuckling to himself over the prospect.

The cowboys, in their uproarious mood, did not seem to notice that neither McGlory nor Ping were helping to give the aËroplane a running start down the hill.

"Ye'll be a reg'lar human skyrocket, Jed," remarked Slim, "if ye travel at the rate o' sixty miles an hour."

"I'll be goin' some, an' that's shore," answered the foreman. "Wonder what folks'll invent next? Say, thar! If ye're ready, let's start."

Matt started the motor. This evidence of power rather awed the cowboys, and their grins faded as they watched and listened.

"Now," instructed Matt, "the minute I turn the power into the bicycle wheels, you fellows begin to run the machine downhill."

"Let 'er go!" came the whooping chorus.

Jed Spearman and Slim, tailed on to a forty-foot riata, were some twenty feet ahead of the aËroplane.

"Now!" cried Matt.

The bicycle wheels began to take the push, and the Comet started down the slope, the two cowboys ahead pulling, and the four at the wings pushing.

Naturally, the descent aided the motor. There had not been as much rain, in that part of the State, as there had been in the Devil's Lake country, and the turf was fairly dry and afforded tolerably good wheeling.

The cowboys roared with delight as they ran awkwardly in their tight, high-heeled boots. What happened was only natural, in the circumstances, although quite unexpected to the ignorant cattlemen.

In less than fifty feet the aËroplane was going too fast for the runners. The four at the wings had to let go; and the two at the rope, finding themselves in imminent danger of being run over, dropped the rope and leaped to one side.

All six of the cowboys watched while the Comet, catching the air under her outspread pinions, mounted gracefully—and then continued to mount, the riata trailing beneath.

"He ain't comin' back fer ye, Jed!" howled Slim.

"Here, you!" bellowed the foreman. "Whar ye goin'? What kinder way is that ter treat a feller? Come back, or I'll send a bullet arter ye!"

Matt paid no attention. He was following, to the very letter, the plan McGlory had formed, and was rushing at speed in the direction of the Missouri and the mouth of Burnt Creek.

"Git yer guns!" cried the wrathful Spearman. "Shoot him up!"

It is doubtful whether the cowboys would have been able to retrace their way up the hill and secure their guns before Matt had got out of range. But they had not a chance to put their purpose to the test, for the contingency had been guarded against.

When the cowboys reached the top of the hill, Ping was at the foot of it on the eastern side, traveling as fast as his legs could carry him; and clasped in his arms were the six rifles!

"Blazes ter blazes an' all hands round!" fumed the enraged Jed. "The chink's runnin' off with the guns so'st we kain't shoot. Hosses, boys! Capter the little heathen!"

And here, again, were the cowboys doomed to disappointment. Well beyond the foot of the hill, on the south side, was McGlory. He was riding one horse and leading the other five bronchos.

"Done!" gasped Slim, pulling off his Stetson and slamming it on the ground, "done ter a turn! Who'd 'a' thort it possible?"

"It was a frame-up!" raged the foreman. "The two of 'em hatched the plan while they were talkin'. I was a fool ter let 'em palaver like what they done, kase I mout hev knowed they was up ter somethin'. The chink lifted the guns on us, an' t'other feller lifted the hosses so'st we couldn't ketch the chink; an', as for him," and Jed Spearman turned and looked westward to where the aËroplane was a mere speck in the sky, "as fer him, I say, if that flyin' machine ever comes crowhoppin' eround whar I am, I'll shore put it out o' bizness!"

"An' ye didn't fly, arter all!" bubbled Slim.

"You hesh," grunted Spearman, "or thar'll be fireworks."

"Ye're purty good at jumpin'," jeered another, "so why don't ye jump aboard? I don't reckon she's more'n two mile off an' a mile high."

"Oh," fretted the foreman, "if I only had a gun! Say, let up er I'll use my hands."

"An' we had to push," scoffed Slim; "oh, yas, indeed! We had ter git off'n our hosses, an' put down our guns, an' push. Never reckoned nothin', did we? Never a thing. But they knowed, them fellers did—they knowed ev'ry minit jest what they was about. Next time I fool with this here Motor Matt an' his flyin' machine, ye'll know it."

"An' Jed had a string on her," mourned another. "Sure he did. Why, Jed had his rope fast to her so'st ter hang on in case Motor Matt had anythin' up his sleeve. Well, well! I wonder——"

But Spearman could stand no more. With a fierce whoop, he rushed down the hill along the path taken by the Chinaman. Across, on an opposite uplift, Ping could be seen. He was adding insult to injury by hopping up and down and making derisive gestures with one hand.

"We got ter overhaul the chink an' git back them guns," shouted Slim. "Come on, boys!"

The remaining five started after Spearman. Ping, observing the pursuit, hopped out of sight over the top of the hill. Burdened as he was, he could not hope to escape the pursuing cowboys. But he had faith in McGlory—and McGlory did not fail him.

When the cowboys reached the top of the next hill, they could look down and see McGlory and the six horses. Ping was mounting one of the animals, and when he and McGlory vanished around the base of another coteau—which they were not slow in doing—they took the rifles with them.

The cowboys had to pursue, and they had to do their pursuing on foot. If a cattleman hates one thing more than another it is walking, and the six disgruntled Tin Cup men limped and staggered and toiled onward through the coteaus, following the trail for at least four miles. When they finally ran it out, they found their horses and their guns, but McGlory and Ping were conspicuous by their absence.