ON THE ROAD.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Tomlinson.

"Watching your car," replied Matt.

"How long have you been here?"

"Most of the night."

"Did anything happen? Did——"

Tomlinson snapped off the words and glared. Matt was astounded at his manner.

"I should say something did happen!" said Matt. "Before turning in, I came out here to make sure the machine was all right. You see, Mr. Tomlinson, there's no lock on the door, and I was worried a little. It was well I came. Two men rushed out of the barn, and I followed them. They had horses hitched in the alley, and they got away."

"Are you giving it to me straight?" demanded Tomlinson, peering steadily into Matt's eyes.

"Certainly I am."

"Did you get a good look at those men?"

"No, it was too dark. They got away on their horses before I had a chance to get very near them."

Tomlinson was thoughtful for a few moments. He was wondering, no doubt, if Matt was pursuing the intruders while he was in the barn looking for the letter. Evidently he made up his mind that Matt knew nothing about his night visit to the barn, and it seemed equally evident that he believed the two men had got the letter. The fierce expression vanished from his face and he became more amiable.

"After that," said he, "you were afraid the machine might be tampered with, and so you came here and stayed all night?"

"That's the way of it, Mr. Tomlinson," replied Matt.

"I'm glad to know that I've got such a careful and discreet driver. I was worried about the car myself, and came out here, during the evening. I saw no one around, though, and suppose, at that time, you were chasing the two men. Wonder what they wanted here?"

"Perhaps they were two of the men who tried to hold you up," suggested Matt.

"What object would they have in coming here?"

"That's hard to tell. They might have wanted to injure the car just to get even with you."

Tomlinson shook his head.

"That would have been a foolish move," said he, "and I can't believe that was their object. Well," he added briskly, "it doesn't much matter. We'll get away from Ash Fork in less than an hour. Come in to breakfast. The landlord promised to have an early one for us."

"How are you feeling, sir?" Matt inquired, as they walked toward the hotel.

"First-rate," said Tomlinson; "almost as good as ever. Where's the Dutchman?"

"He spent the night in my room."

"Who is he? A friend of yours?" Tomlinson spoke carelessly, but it was clear to Matt that the question had more significance than he cared to make it seem.

"Yes, he's a friend," Matt answered. "He's been playing in hard luck lately. He and a man named Pringle were doing a turn in vaudeville. Pringle got out between two days, when he and his partner were in Flagstaff, and took about everything Carl had."

"Hard lines!" muttered Tomlinson. "Well, he helped me, and I'm glad to be able to do something for him."

Carl was coming down-stairs just as Matt and Tomlinson entered the hotel office. He seemed surprised to see Matt and the owner of the car together, but was clever enough to keep his feelings from Tomlinson.

All three went into the dining-room and ate a hurried meal. When it was done, Matt brought down a grip which contained all his reserve wardrobe, packed his bundle of laundry away in it and stowed it in the bottom of the tonneau. The rest of the tonneau Tomlinson appropriated for his own use.

It was seven o'clock when the Red Flier, guided by Matt's skilful hands, swept out of Ash Fork and pointed for Flagstaff. Carl, more "jeerful" than he had been for a long time, occupied the seat on Matt's left. Matt was not familiar with the road, but Tomlinson furnished him with a road-map and Carl kept the map open and followed the course with his eyes, from time to time giving Matt directions.

They had left Ash Fork no more than a mile behind when Tomlinson, braced in a corner of the tonneau, broached a subject which was vastly interesting to both boys.

"You lads," said Tomlinson, "are probably wondering about those pearls. You see, I am a wholesale jeweler, in Denver, and rare gems like those are directly in my line. They're from the Gulf of California, and were picked up by a La Paz Mexican, who brought them into Yuma. Hearing that I was in Yuma, the Mexican came to me and offered the pearls for sale. I bought them at a bargain. I asked you to say nothing about the pearls in Ash Fork, because, if it were known I had such valuable property about me, some one might lay a plan to hold us up. That's what happened the other side of Ash Fork, and it was an experience I don't care to have repeated."

"It's hardly safe to carry such valuable property around with you in this part of the country, Mr. Tomlinson," remarked Matt.

"No one knows that better than I do," the other answered, "hence my desire to keep the matter quiet."

"Why didn't you send the pearls to Denver by express, after you got them in Yuma?" asked Matt.

The question seemed to surprise Tomlinson.

"I was careless, I suppose," he answered, after a brief pause.

"Anyhow," went on Matt, "after your narrow escape on the road to Ash Fork, I should think you would have got the pearls into the hands of the express company as soon as you could."

"I pay you a hundred a month to look after this car," said Tomlinson sharply, "and not to offer suggestions as to how I run my business."

Carl rolled his eyes at Matt, and a slow grin worked its way over his fat face. Matt himself felt like grinning, for he was putting these questions for a purpose. Tomlinson's answers were hardly calculated to allay any suspicions that might be forming in Matt's mind.

At that time the Red Flier had dipped into a piece of road that skirted the foot of a mountain. According to the road-map, the course circled around the uplift to a point on the opposite side.

The mountain was low, oblong in shape, and covered with pine timber. Carl, stealing a covert look behind, now and then, saw that Tomlinson was staring at the tree-covered slope with uneasy eyes.

"This is a good road, King," said Tomlinson presently, "and I think it would be well to let the car out. A better place than this for a hold-up could hardly be imagined, and——"

The words were hardly out of his mouth when a thumping of hoofs was heard in the trail behind.

"Hold up, there!" yelled a voice; "wait!"

Matt took one look rearward. Two mounted men were behind—rough-looking fellows in slouch-hats and blue flannel shirts. It was plain that they had ridden into the road from the timber, probably intending to get ahead of the car, but making a miscalculation.

"Hit 'er up!" cried Tomlinson, crouching down in the tonneau. "Those are two of the men who tried to rob me before! Dig out, King! Don't let any grass grow under this car now!"

Matt advanced the spark, and sent the Red Flier ahead at a furious speed. The horsemen were armed, but made no attempt to shoot. They spurred wildly, and slapped their horses with their hats, but, of course, a six-cylinder machine could walk away from anything on hoofs. In less than a minute the two men were out of sight.

Matt, keenly watching the road and keeping steady hands on the steering-wheel, was wondering if those were the same men who had been prowling about the barn the night before. He judged that they were, and he wondered at their foolish attempt to try to chase the Red Flier and bring the car to a halt from the rear.

Three minutes later, and while they were still making for the point of the mountain, Tomlinson leaned over the back of the seat and gave a surprising order.

"Stop her, King! I'm going to get out here."

"Going to get out!" echoed Matt, cutting off the power and clamping on the brake. "If you do, those fellows will capture you."

"You don't understand," went on Tomlinson, stepping down from the tonneau. "Those fellows are after me, and I ought to have kept right on with these pearls and not laid over in Ash Fork last night. That gave them a chance to get ahead of us and lay a trap."

"Trap?" queried Matt.

"That's it. This road winds around to the other side of the mountain. See that gap up there?"

Tomlinson pointed up the wooded slope to a place where the ridgelike uplift was broken.

"Do you understand what those scoundrels can do, King?" pursued Tomlinson. "They can ride through that gap and get to the other side of the mountain ahead of us. I don't want to be in the car when that happens—and if I'm not in the car the chances are it won't happen. I'll climb up and get through the gap myself, and you pull up and wait for me after you get a mile beyond the gap on the other side. Understand? That's the only way we can fool those fellows. If we turn back toward Ash Fork, they'll get me, and if I stay in the car and go around the end of the mountain the result will be the same. They can watch, from up there, and make the move that's best calculated to help them; but, by getting out, I can dodge through the timber on foot and we'll all give them the go-by. Wait for me a mile beyond the gap, on the other side," he repeated, and started up the slope.

Matt stared at Carl for a moment.

"Be jeerful," grinned Carl. "Ve nefer know vat's going to habben, dis trip, so it iss pedder dot ve take eferyt'ing as it comes. Domlinson must know vat he's aboudt."

"It looks to me as though he was getting into more trouble than if he had stayed with the car," muttered Matt. "He has some hard climbing ahead of him, for one who's been through what he has. However, I've got my orders, and here goes."

There was enough gas in the cylinders so that the Red Flier took the spark without cranking, and the boys rolled on around the end of the mountain and doubled back on the opposite side.

The road continued good, but the roadside was covered with jagged stones and it would have been impossible for the car to have turned out if any wagons had been met going the other way.

On this side of the uplift the trail bore off from the bottom of the slope, but it was easy to keep an eye on the gap and calculate the point where Tomlinson had told Matt to stop and wait for him.

As Matt figured it, there was a good two miles yet before that point would be reached, and he let the car out, once more, in order to hurry over the distance.

But he had hardly got under full headway before he shut off the gasoline and got busy with the foot-brake.

"Py chimineddy!" cried Carl; "dose fellers haf plocked der road!"

That was the exact condition of affairs. A pine-tree, growing close to the trail, had been felled in such a manner as to fall across it at right angles, making it impossible for the car to proceed. It was also impossible for the car to go around the tree, on account of the rocky ground at the trailside.

Wondering what the two ruffians hoped to gain by this move, Motor Matt leaped down from his seat and went forward to investigate the situation.