IN ASH FORK.

Once more the Red Flier found shelter in the hotel barn, and once more James Q. Tomlinson was quartered in the hotel. But, of course, it was a different James Q. Tomlinson.

One of the first things Matt did, as soon as he had helped Gregory take care of the Red Flier, was to hunt up the deputy sheriff and tell him what had happened. If there was ever a dumfounded man in Arizona, that man was the deputy.

"Well, thunder an' kerry one!" said he. "Ain't I the bright boy, though? Why, I helped that Denver Denny across the street from the doctor's office, did everythin' I could to make him comfortable, and—oh, gadhook it all! He played me for fair, and no mistake! But I reckon you was a bit fooled yourself, eh?"

"For a while, yes," answered Matt. "But you'd better get busy. Denver Denny is out there on the mountain, and Hank and Spangler are back on the west road with a stolen car. If you hustle you may be able to capture the whole gang—or three of them, anyhow."

"That's me, on the jump."

Ten minutes later the deputy sheriff had collected a posse, and had split the force into two detachments. One party went toward the place where the stolen car had been left, and the other headed along the Flagstaff trail.

As a matter of fact, which may as well be stated in this place, neither detachment accomplished anything.

The owner of the runabout, Lem Nugent, arrived in town on foot, late that afternoon, full of wrath, footsore, and weary.

"Hang the blooming luck, anyhow!" said he, to a group of loungers in front of the hotel. "Got held up for my new car—two fellows snaked it right out from under me. There was a tree across the trail, and of course we had to stop. Next I knew a revolver was looking at me from both sides. I had to get out, and the two hold-up boys went away in the runabout, taking Henry along to run the car for them. As for me—whoosh! I walked into town. Never liked walking much, anyhow. And where's my new runabout? That's what I want to know. Henry's with it, wherever it is."

But Lem Nugent was mistaken. Henry wasn't with the car, at that moment, but was hoofing it into Ash Fork from the hills, glad to have his scalp with him.

He reported to his employer an hour after the theft of the runabout had been described by its owner.

"They made me chase a red touring-car," said Henry, "kept a gun poked into my ribs all the time an' said they'd blow holes in me if I didn't do the right thing. What they thought was the right thing, and what I thought, was some different, but guns was trumps an' they had the best hands. First time we chased the red car the machinery of the runabout went wrong, and the other machine got away from us. Came pretty near getting shot, then, as the strong-arm boys thought I'd made the runabout go wrong a-purpose.

"When we got ready to do some more scorching, the other car had given us the slip. We kept chasing around, and finally dipped over a divide into that east road, a couple o' miles beyond the Fork. By and by we stopped at a place where a feller called Spangler got out and lost himself in a swale. Hank and me jogged on to where the west road come into the other trail, an' turned back along that course. We was to pick up Spangler on the new road, after he'd done something or other, I don't know what.

"Well, unexpectedlike, we sighted the red car. That was our signal to whoop it up, takin' Spangler in behind on the fly. Then we had a race an' no mistake. It would have been our race, too, if the young fellow in the red car hadn't busted a bottle in the trail and spoiled a tire for us. Say, that was the slickest move I ever saw made!

"It took us half an hour to get on a new tire, and by that time, of course, the red car was safe in Ash Fork. Hank made me give him lessons in handling the runabout, then told me to go home and say that he and Spangler liked the machine so well they was going to keep it."

The cattleman swore roundly; and likewise declared that he'd spend the price of a new car getting the old one back.

Tomlinson remained in Ash Fork for two days, recovering from his trying experiences. And when he finally went on to Albuquerque he went by train. As for the Red Flier, the arrangement he had made to have the car taken on developed in a conversation he had with Matt a few minutes before he got aboard the steam-cars.

Matt was at the station with Tomlinson and Gregory, for both were going to Albuquerque by train.

"Here's what I owe you, Matt," said the Denver man, pressing a roll of bills into the young motorist's hand. "A thousand dollars, and I call it cheap, considering the great service you rendered me. The Red Flier will have to come on to Albuquerque, but I don't care to travel with her myself, and I want Gregory to go with me. I'll give you an extra hundred, Matt, if you'll bring the car through. I shall be in Albuquerque for some time, and you can jog along at your leisure. What do you say? If you have anything else on hand, and feel that you can't do it, don't hesitate to say so. Henry, Nugent's driver, will take the Red Flier to Albuquerque, if you can't. But, frankly, I'd rather trust the car in your hands."

"I'll do it," said Matt. "You see, I want to get to Denver myself, and I'll be able to get over a long lap of the run on the trip."

"Good!" exclaimed Tomlinson, with a look of relief. "You're going to Denver, you say?"

"That's my intention."

"What are you going to do there?"

"Something with motor-cars—I can't tell just what, at the present time."

"You'd make a good driver for a racing-car. You've got nerve, and steadiness, and presence of mind. How'd you like a job of that kind?"

Matt's eyes sparkled.

"That would suit me right down to the ground, Mr. Tomlinson," said he.

"Then I think I can help you. A friend of mine is a manufacturer of automobiles, and I know he's looking for a good driver for his racing-machines. If you say so, I'll write him from Albuquerque."

"I'd be obliged to you if you would, Mr. Tomlinson," returned Matt.

"All right, then. You can count on me to give you a good recommendation."

Just then the train came along, Tomlinson and Gregory shook hands with Matt and Carl, and were soon pulling out of Ash Fork.

"Vell, vell!" murmured Carl, staring after the disappearing train, "you vas some lucky poys, Matt. Meppy I vill be lucky, too, oof I shtay hooked oop mit you."

"Nothing would please me better, old chap," said Matt heartily, "than to have you trail along with me."

"Und go mit you py Albuquerque, und den py Tenver?"

"Sure!"

"Hoop-a-la!" jubilated Carl, gripping Matt's hand.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (6) WILL CONTAIN

Motor Matt's Red Flier;

OR,

ON THE HIGH GEAR.

Stranded "Uncle Tommers"—The Red Flier Gets a Load—The Stolen Runabout—The Coat in the Rumble—Matt Begins a Search—Losing the Box—A Mysterious Disappearance—Spirited Away—An Unexpected Meeting—A Daring Plan—On the Road—A Close Call—Car Against Car—Down the Mountain—Motor Matt's Tenstrike—More Trouble for the "Uncle Tommers"—Conclusion.

NEW YORK, March 27, 1909.

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