MATT GETS A JOB.

"What's the trouble here?" asked the deputy sheriff. "I hear that Matt King and the Dutchman brought you to town in an automobile, Mr. Tomlinson, and that you have been robbed."

"Not robbed," replied Tomlinson. "I was shot at, and wounded slightly, but the car was too fast for the thieves and I got away."

"Where 'bouts was this?"

"About twenty miles west of Ash Fork. I don't think it would do you any good to go after the rascals, though."

"I reckon not. They're prob'ly a good long ways from where they tried to hold you up. You wasn't hurt very bad, eh?"

"It wasn't serious at all. I feel pretty weak, but I'll soon get over that. It's necessary for me to go on to Flagstaff to-night, or early to-morrow morning."

"You'd better rest up for three or four days, anyhow, Mr. Tomlinson," admonished the doctor.

"Haven't the time. As I told you, there's a friend waiting for me at Flagstaff." Tomlinson's tone was decided, and he turned to Matt. "So your name is King," he asked, "Matt King?"

"Yes," answered the young motorist.

"Are you the Motor Matt I've been hearing about, down Phoenix way?"

"I've been living in Phoenix for a while, and that's what they call me down there."

"What are you doing in Ash Fork?"

"Came here looking for a job."

"Good! I need a driver for my car, and will pay you one hundred dollars a month and expenses. Is it a go?"

Matt jumped at the chance. This was not the job he had been expecting to get, but it seemed fully as good as anything he could pick up in Ash Fork. Besides, there was a prospect of getting to Denver, and he had long had that city in his mind's eye.

"I'll take it," said Matt. "Where do we go after leaving Flagstaff?"

"Right back to Colorado," answered Tomlinson. "I guess this will stop my knocking around. I went away for my health, and now I'll go back to Denver for the same reason." He took a roll of bills from his pocket, stripped off a twenty-dollar bank-note and handed it to Matt. "Here's some money, King," said he. "Look after the Red Flier and have her all ready to start early to-morrow morning. How much do I owe you, doctor?" he added.

"Oh, a ten will about square us," answered the doctor, and must have pocketed more money for less work than he had done for some time.

"Help me to the hotel, will you?" asked Tomlinson, of the deputy sheriff. "I'm not very steady on my legs, yet."

"Sure," said the officer readily.

"Schust a minid, oof you blease," spoke up Carl. "Oof you vas going to Tenver, Misder Domlinson, vat's der madder mit ledding me rite along? Dot's vere I vant to go, und I don'd haf some money to ged dere."

Tomlinson looked Carl over for a moment.

"Well," said he, "I don't know why I shouldn't. I owe you something, anyhow."

Carl brightened perceptibly. He had taken a great liking to Matt, in the few hours he had known him, and was glad that they were both going to Denver together.

Tomlinson was assisted out of the office by the deputy sheriff, the doctor opening the doors obsequiously ahead of them. When the doctor returned to Matt and Carl he was rubbing his hands and smiling.

"I'll bet you boys don't know what that man is," said he. "Why, he's one of the biggest wholesale jewelers in the West, and he's got more money than you can count. This was a lucky day's work for you."

"Vell," returned Carl grimly, "it don'd open oop like it. He gifs me a rite py Tenver for vat I dit, und he gifs Matt a chob like vat he could ged anyvere for der same money. Domlinson iss an olt skinflint."

"Tut, tut," said the doctor reprovingly. "Before you get through with him you'll find that he does the right thing by you."

"Have you ever seen him before, doctor?" asked Matt.

"No, but I've read a lot about him in the Denver newspapers. You chaps are in for a streak of luck."

"Dot's vat I peen vaidin' for, all righdt," said Carl, as he and Matt left, "aber I got some hunches dot I'm goin' to keep righdt on vaidin', und being jeerful schust to show vat goot shtuff a Pretzel iss made of."

When they got down on the walk, Carl laid a hand on Matt's arm.

"How vould you like to lend me a leedle more money, Matt?" he asked. "You see, I owe a fife-tollar board-pill in town und it iss pedder dot I pay it pefore I hike. I can't gif you nodding but my vort dot I pay him back, shdill you alretty took some chances on me, und you mighdt as vell took a few more."

"There you are, Carl," laughed Matt, handing him the money. "I wouldn't want you to go along with us if you didn't have your debts paid. I'm getting a hundred a month, now, and I'll stand back of you until you find a job of your own."

"You vas a pully poy," answered Carl, "und ve vill be fast friendts so long as you like."

"That suits me," answered Matt heartily, "right up to the handle."

They shook hands cordially, and while Carl went off to square his board-bill Matt gave his attention to the Red Flier.

Now that Matt had charge of that fine big car, he was conscious of a feeling of pride as he stood off and surveyed the superb machine. From now on the car was to be under his care, and to run under his hands. Motors were his hobby, particularly gasoline-motors, and he was never so happy as when he had something to do with them.

He wondered a little why a wealthy wholesale jeweler should be traveling about the Southwest in a touring-car with no more baggage than Mr. Tomlinson had with him. But that was Mr. Tomlinson's business, and Matt was so wrapped up in the six-cylinder machine that he gave little attention to anything else.

His first move was to begin an examination of the car to see that everything was in proper shape. The cylinders and valves under the hood claimed his first care; then he examined the water-tank, the sparking-apparatus, and finally came to the point where he wanted a look at the gear. This was reached by a trap in the tonneau, and he pulled up a rubber mat in order to get at the opening.

Under the mat he found something besides the trap-door. The object was a letter, which might have got under the mat by mistake or have been put there for the purpose of secreting it.

Matt picked the letter up and gave it closer scrutiny. It had passed through the mails, and had been posted in Flagstaff several days before. The address, in a scrawling hand, read, "Mr. James Trymore, Brockville, A. T."

Brockville was the next station west of Ash Fork. The address was evidence enough that the letter did not belong to Tomlinson; but, if not, how did it happen to be in the car?

There was a chance that the missive belonged to Tomlinson's chauffeur, who had been left sick at the Needles. Thinking that this was the way of it, Matt started to put the letter in his pocket. At that moment the deputy sheriff came across the street from the hotel.

"Well, King," said he jovially, bracing up alongside the car, "you've feathered your nest in good shape. Tomlinson is loaded down with money and you've done a big thing for him to-day."

"Think so?" queried Matt.

"Wisht I was as sure I was goin' to make a million as I am of that."

"Did you talk with Mr. Tomlinson any?"

"Well, a little."

"Did he tell you the name of his other chauffeur?"

"No, I can't remember that he did."

"Are you acquainted over in Brockville?"

"Know about everybody in the town."

"Who's Trymore, James Trymore?"

The effect of that question on the deputy sheriff was amazing. He gave a jump and his eyes narrowed as they peered at Matt.

"What did you ask me that for?" he demanded.

"Because I wanted to know."

"Look here, son, have you got a line on that feller, or have you jest seen one of the notices?"

"What notices?"

"Why, I got a letter through the mails, from Denver, not more'n three days ago, saying that a crook named Denny Jerome, otherwise Denver Denny, otherwise James Trymore, had escaped from jail and was believed to be somewhere in this part of the country. How'd you hear about him?"

Matt was not taking the deputy sheriff into his confidence merely on that showing. Parrying his curiosity with some offhand remark, Matt pushed the letter into his pocket and went on with his examination of the car.

His mind was full of all sorts of surmises. Why should a letter addressed to a Denver crook be in Mr. Tomlinson's car? Matt began to think that the day's proceedings, taken all together, had a queer look. Perhaps his new job wasn't going to be as pleasant a one as he had imagined.