A SURPRISE.

Hank made a desperate attempt to overhaul the car. In fact, he tried so hard to capture Pringle that Matt wondered at it. Why should he give so much attention to the fellow when the man he and Spangler wanted most was still on the mountainside?

Hank goaded his horse to top speed, shouted threats, and even smashed the tail lamp with a bullet before the Red Flier could get out of the way. No other damage was done, and Matt drew a long breath of relief when the angry robber was safely left behind.

Meanwhile things had been happening in the tonneau. Carl's idea of revenge was to take his troubles out of Pringle's hide, and he was going about it with considerable violence. The body of the car rocked from side to side on the chassis under the fierce turmoil in the tonneau.

"Wienerwurst, hey?" sputtered Carl, rolling Pringle over on the seat. "You cut loose from Wienerwurst, hey? I make you t'ink it tifferent, you lopster!"

"Leave go o' me. Pretzel!" cried Pringle. "I'll eat you, if you don't, an' that's what. Say, you monkey——"

"Monkey!" gurgled Carl. "Dot's somet'ing more. Pringle und Pretzel, der moosickal team haf bust oop! Und now come der firevorks. How you like dot, hey? Und dot, und dot! Dose vas my gompliments. Wienerwurst hants dem to you mit jeerfulness."

Thump, smack, bang! went Carl's fists.

Matt, having made sure that there was now no danger to be apprehended from Hank, halted the car and leaned over the back of the seat to take a hand in the squabble himself.

"That'll do, Carl!" he cried, grabbing the Dutch boy by the collar as he pummeled the form on the leather cushions.

"I hafen't paid him all vat I owe him yet," shouted Carl.

"That's enough, anyway. Leave him alone. If——"

"Dere he goes!" screamed Carl; "und look—look vat he's got in his hant alretty!"

The moment Matt dragged the Dutch boy from his late partner, the latter had leaped from the seat, grabbed something that had fallen from his pocket, and had sprung down from the car. As he leaped away, Matt saw that the object in his hand was the green silk bag!

Pringle had been saved from Hank, and he was now anxious to save himself from Carl and Matt. With a flying leap from the car, Matt made after him.

A sharp run followed. Pringle was no match for the athletic Motor Matt. Catching up with him at the end of a fifty-yard dash, the young motorist grabbed the fellow by the arm and jerked him to a halt.

Pringle was a slab-sided, beak-faced youth with buttermilk eyes. Merely a glance at him was enough to show Matt that he was thoroughly unreliable.

"No more fighting," said Matt sharply, snatching the bag from Pringle's hand. "Back to the car with you, on the double-quick."

"That ain't yours," snarled Pringle, referring to the bag.

"Nor yours, either," answered Matt. "I'm taking charge of it for Tomlinson."

This remark about Tomlinson seemed to take Pringle's breath.

"Who's Tomlinson?" he asked, trying to play the innocent.

"You know."

"Some one's been stringing you."

"You're trying it now, Pringle, but it won't work."

Carl, leaning out of the tonneau, was waving a revolver.

"Py shiminy, Matt," he called, "here I vas heeled all der time und forgot aboudt it. Dis gun pelongs mit der Drymore feller. Shtep avay vile I draw some beads on dot gangle-legged hide-rack, vat you got along."

"Put that up!" said Matt sternly. "If it went off, I'd be in as much danger as Pringle. That rope that was used to lash the wheel is wrapped around the foot-rest in the tonneau. Get it, and we'll tie Pringle's hands."

"What are you mutts trying to do?" demanded Pringle. "You ain't got no call to handle me like this."

"Oh, no, I guess nod!" taunted Carl, pulling Pringle's hands to his back and getting busy with the rope. "You vas a fine sbecimen oof a tinhorn, hey. Wienerwurst! Vell, I vas more oof a hot tamale as dot, hey?"

"What do you want to knock a partner like this for, Dutch?" demanded Pringle. "Just because I had to pull my freight without getting your permission? Aw, you make me tired!"

"See here," said Matt sharply, as Pringle was made to get into the tonneau, "there's no use of your trying to play possum with us, Pringle. We know all about what you've done—not only to Carl, but to Tomlinson. You'll go to Yuma, all right. Just now we're going to take you to Ash Fork and leave you, and the pearls, with the deputy sheriff."

This announcement took the wind out of Pringle's sails. The white ran into his face, and he sank back and stared helplessly from Carl to Matt.

At that moment the pounding of a motor was heard along the road in the direction of Ash Fork. In that region, where automobiles were few and far between, the sound claimed Matt's instant attention.

The other car was coming like the wind. It was a high-powered runabout with a single rumble-seat behind. There were two passengers—one a big man in cap and dust-coat, and the other a businesslike driver in leather fixings and goggles.

The runabout was new, as could easily be seen, and there was an extra tire in irons at the driver's side.

At that point in the road passing was easy, and the runabout surged by without decreasing speed.

"Look out ahead!" shouted Matt, making a trumpet of his hands.

But his warning didn't even win a backward glance from the big fellow with the driver. The dust the runabout kicked up soon screened the car from sight. A few moments later, the dust whisked out of view around the point of the mountain.

"Chiminy grickets, dot feller vas going some!" exclaimed Carl. "He don'd vas on speaking-derms mit anypody to-day, I guess."

"I'll bet that's the fellow I came to Ash Fork to see about a job," said Matt. "He answers the description, all right, but from the looks of things he's got a driver."

"Vich leds you oudt," returned Carl. "Dis odder chob oof yours ad a hundert tollars a mont I don'd t'ink vill last. Meppy ve don'd ged py Tenver, neider. Vat a luck it iss! Aber be jeerful. Pringle iss here," and Carl reached over to nudge Pringle in the ribs.

"Cut it out!" scowled Pringle. "What can I do to get clear of this?"

"You can go py Ash Fork fairst, und den py Yuma. Dot vill led you oudt in den years, meppy."

"Rub it in! Oh, by all means!"

"Do you want to tell us what you know?" asked Matt, facing Pringle.

"Will it put me in deeper, or help me out?" returned Pringle.

"It won't do you any harm. We know a good deal about this business, as it is. For instance, Pringle, you got a note from Denver Denny telling you that the pearls were on the way——"

"Dere id iss," said Carl, pushing the note in front of Pringle's eyes. "Look him ofer, den you know ve don'd make some pluffs."

"You answered the letter from Flagstaff," went on Matt, "and sent it to Brockville, saying you were glad the pearls were on the way and that you would meet Trymore at that place."

"Und dere iss dot vone, too—only ve don'd got it," put in Carl. "Dot's der vone vere you say someding aboudt Wienerwurst, vich iss me."

"No," said Pringle, "I know you don't got it. Hank got it. You're real cute in that red vest. It's almost like we were in the lime-light, doing the sketch. Quite a line you lads have got on me. But I wouldn't linger around here. That other benzine buggy is coming back, and Hank's up front. Spang's behind, too, and they're reaching out for us."

Pringle was turned partly around in the tonneau, so that his eyes could command the road in the rear. Matt took a quick glance toward the point of the mountain.

Pringle was right! The runabout was charging along the trail like a thunderbolt. The big man in the dust-coat had vanished. In his place sat Hank, and behind Hank was Spangler.

Hank had a revolver in his hand and was pointing it at the driver, holding him to his work.

"Ach, du lieber!" whooped Carl. "Pull avay, Matt! Dey're afder us."

Matt turned over the engine in record time, jumped for his seat and started.