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  MOTOR STORIES

  THRILLING
  ADVENTURE

  MOTOR
  FICTION

  NO. 7
  APR. 10, 1909

  FIVE
  CENTS

  MOTOR MATT'S
  CLUE

  THE PHANTOM
  AUTO

  _by STANLEY R. MATTHEWS_.

  [Illustration: "Look a leedle oudt!" yelled
  Carl, as Motor Matt made a
  quick jump for the phantom
  auto.]

  _STREET & SMITH,
  PUBLISHERS,
  NEW YORK._




MOTOR STORIES

THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION

_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to
Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of
Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue,
New York, N. Y._

  No. 7.      NEW YORK, April 10, 1909.      Price Five Cents.

Motor Matt's Clue;

OR,

THE PHANTOM AUTO.

By the author of "MOTOR MATT."




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I. A NIGHT MYSTERY.
  CHAPTER II. DICK FERRAL.
  CHAPTER III. LA VITA PLACE.
  CHAPTER IV. THE HOUSE OF WONDER.
  CHAPTER V. SERCOMB.
  CHAPTER VI. THE PHANTOM AUTO AGAIN.
  CHAPTER VII. SURROUNDED BY ENEMIES.
  CHAPTER VIII. THE KETTLE CONTINUES TO BOIL.
  CHAPTER IX. ORDERED AWAY.
  CHAPTER X. A NEW PLAN.
  CHAPTER XI. A DARING LEAP.
  CHAPTER XII. DESPERATE VILLAINY.
  CHAPTER XIII. TIPPOO.
  CHAPTER XIV. IN THE NICK OF TIME.
  CHAPTER XV. A STARTLING INTERRUPTION.
  CHAPTER XVI. THE PRICE OF TREACHERY.
  CHAPTER XVII. THE LUCK OF DICK FERRAL.
  BILL, THE BOUND BOY.
  A WINTER STORY OF COLORADO.




CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.


  =Matt King=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad
  of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won
  for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of
  "Mile-a-minute Matt."

  =Carl Pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking German lad, who is led by a
  fortunate accident to hook up with Motor Matt in double harness.

  =Uncle Jack=, a wealthy Englishman, with ways and means of his own
  for accomplishing things, who leads a hermit's life in the wilds of
  New Mexico.

  =Dick Ferral=, a Canadian boy and a favorite of Uncle Jack; has
  served his time in the King's navy, and bobs up in New Mexico where
  he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life.

  =Ralph Sercomb=, a cousin of Dick Ferral, and whose sly, treacherous
  nature is responsible for Dick's troubles.

  =Joe Mings=,    } three unscrupulous friends of Sercomb, all
  =Harry Packard=,} motor-drivers, and who come from Denver to help
  =Balt Finn=,    } Sercomb in his nefarious plans.




CHAPTER I.

A NIGHT MYSTERY.


"Oh, py shiminy! Look at dere, vonce! Vat it iss, Matt? Br-r-r! I feel
like I vould t'row some fits righdt on der shpot! It's a shpook, you
bed you!"

A strange event was going forward, there under the moon and stars of
that New Mexico night. The wagon-road followed the base of a clifflike
bank, and at the outer edge of the road there was a precipitous fall
into Stygian darkness.

A second road entered the first through a narrow gully. A few yards
beyond the point where the thoroughfares joined an automobile was
halted, its twin acetylene lamps gleaming like the eyes of some fabled
monster in the semigloom.

Two boys were on the front seat of the automobile, and one of them had
leaned over and gripped the arm of the lad who had his hands on the
steering-wheel. The eyes of the two in the car were staring ahead.

What the boys saw was sufficiently startling, in all truth.

Out of the gully, directly in advance of them, had rolled a white
automobile--springing ghostlike out of the darkness as it came under
the glare of the acetylene lights.

The white car was a runabout, with two seats in front and an abnormally
high deck behind. It carried no lamps, moved with weird silence, and,
strangest of all, _there was no one in either seat_! Yet, with no hand
on the steering-wheel, the white car made the dangerous turn out of the
gully into the main road with the utmost ease, and was now continuing
on between the foot of the cliff and the brink of the chasm with a
steadiness that was--well, almost hair-raising.

Motor Matt, who had been piloting the Red Flier slowly and carefully
along that dangerous course, had cut off the power and thrown on the
brake the instant the white car leaped into sight. As he gazed at the
receding auto, and noted the conditions under which it was moving, a
gasp escaped his lips.

"That beats anything I ever heard of, Carl!" he muttered.

"It vas a shpook pubble!" clamored Carl Pretzel. "I don'd like dot, py
shinks. Durn aroundt, or pack oop, or do somet'ing else to ged oudt
oof der vay. Shpooks iss pad pitzness, und schust vy dit it habben
don't make no odds aboudt der tifference. Ged avay, Matt, und ged avay
kevick! Py Chorge! I vas so vorked oop as I can't dell."

Carl released Matt's arm, pulled a big red handkerchief out of his
pocket and wiped the perspiration from his face. He was having a chill
and perspiring at the same time; and his mop of towlike hair was trying
to stand on end.

Matt started the Red Flier. There was gas enough in the cylinders to
take the spark, so that it was not necessary to get out and use the
crank.

To turn around on such a road was out of the question, even if Matt had
desired to do so--which he did not. Nor did he reverse the engine and
back away, but started along in the trail of the white car.

"Vat you vas doing, anyvay?" cried Carl.

"I'm going to follow up that phantom auto and see if I can find what
controls it."

"You vas grazy, Matt! Meppy ve ged kilt oof ve ged too nosey mit dot
machine. It don'd pay to dake some chances in a case like dose. I know
vat I know, und dot's all aboudt it. Go pack pefore der shpook pubble
hits us und knock us py der cliff ofer!"

Carl was excited. He believed in "spooks" and Motor Matt didn't, and
that was all the difference between them.

"Don't lose your nerve, Carl----"

"It vas gone alretty!" groaned Carl, crouching in his seat, hanging on
with both hands and staring ahead with popping eyes.

"Nothing's going to happen," went on Matt. "There's no such thing as
ghosts, Carl."

"Don'd I know ven I see vone?" quavered Carl. "You t'ink I vas plind,
Matt. Dot pubble moofs mitoudt nopody to make it go like vat it does;
und it don'd hit der rocks or go ofer der cliff. Donnervetter! I vish
I vas somevere else, py grickets. Ach! I vas so colt like ice, und I
sveat; und my teet' raddle so dot I don't hardly peen aple to shpeak
anyt'ing."

"We've seen the Red Flier moving along without anybody aboard, Carl,"
said Matt, in an attempt to quiet his chum's fears.

"Yah, so," answered Carl, "aber der Ret Flier vas moofing along some
shdraighdt roads, und der veel vas tied mit ropes so dot she keeps a
shdraighdt course. Aber dot shpook pubble don'd haf nopody on, und der
veel ain'd tied, und yet she go on und on like anyding. Ach, I peen as
goot as a deadt Dutchman, I know dot."

While the boys were thus arguing matters the Red Flier was trailing the
phantom auto. The white machine, still controlled in some mysterious
manner, glided safely along the treacherous trail. It was beyond the
glow of the acetylene lights, but the moonlight brought it out of the
gloom like a white blur.

In advance of the runabout Matt saw a place where the road curved
around the face of the cliff. The phantom auto melted around the curve.

Hardly had it vanished when a loud yell was wafted back to the ears of
the boys.

Carl nearly jumped out of his seat, and a frightened whoop escaped his
lips.

"Ach, du lieber!" he wailed. "Ve vas goners, Matt, ve vas bot' goners.
I can't t'ink oof nodding, nod efen my brayers! Vat vas dot? I bed you
it vas der teufel gedding retty to chump on us. Whoosh! I never had
some feelings like dis yet."

"Don't be foolish, Carl," said Matt. "There was no spook back of that
yell, but real flesh and blood. Keep a stiff upper lip and we'll find
out all about it."

Just then the Red Flier rounded the turn. A long, straightaway course
lay ahead of the boys, lighted brightly by the lamps and, farther on,
by the moon and stars. But _the phantom auto had vanished_!

Matt was astounded, and brought the Red Flier to a halt once more. With
a high wall of rock on one side of the road, and an abyss on the other,
where could the white car have gone?

"Ach, chiminy!" chattered Carl. "<DW30>, und avay she goes. Der pubble
vas snuffed oudt, und schust meldet indo der moonpeams. Dis vas a
hoodoo pitzness, all righdt. Ve ged der douple-gross pooty soon, I bed
you someding for nodding!"

"But that yell----"

"Der teufel make him! Id don'd vas nodding but der shpook feller,
saying in der shpook languge, 'Ah, ha, I ged you pooty kevick!' I vish
dot I hat vings so I could fly avay mit meinseluf."

Matt got down from the car and started to walk forward. Carl let off a
yell and scrambled after him.

"Don'd leaf me, Matt! It vas goot to be mit somepody ad sooch a dime.
Misery lofes gompany, und dot's vat I need."

"Come on, then," laughed Matt.

"Vere you go, hey?"

"I'm going to see if I can discover what became of that car."

"It vent oop on der moonpeams," averred Carl earnestly. "You can look,
und look, und dot's all der goot it vill do. Dake it from me, Matt, dot
ve don'd vas----"

"Ahoy, up there!"

The words seem to come from nowhere--or, rather, from everywhere, which
was equivalent to the same thing.

Carl gave a roar and tried to push himself into the face of the cliff.

"Vat I tell you, hey?" he groaned. "Dere it vas again. Matt, more und
vorse dan der odder dime. Righdt here iss vere ve kick some puckets;
yah, leedle Carl Pretzel und Modor Matt King vill be viped oudt like a
sponge mit a slate."

"Keep still, Carl!" called Matt. "There's no ghost back of that voice.
Listen a minute."

Turning in the road, Matt lifted his head.

"Hello!" he called.

"Hello, yourself!" came the muffled but distinct response.

The voice seemed to float out of the blackness of the chasm, and Matt
stepped closer to the edge.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name'll be M-u-d, Mud, if you don't man a line an' give me a boost
out of this."

"Where are you?"

"Down the wall, hanging like a lizard to a piece of scrub. Can't you
tell by my talk where I am? From the looks, I'm about a fathom down;
but I'll be all the way down if you don't get a move on. Shake yourself
together, mate, and be lively!"

Carl's fear, as this conversation proceeded, was gradually lost in
curiosity. The voice from over the brink had a very human ring to it,
and the Dutch boy was beginning to feel easier in his mind.

"Get the rope out of the tonneau, Carl," called Matt. "Hurry up!"

"Bully!" came from below, the person on the wall evidently hearing
Matt's order to Carl. "That's the game, matey. If you've got a rope,
reeve a bowline in the end and toss it over. I'm a swab if I don't
think it's up to you to do it, too. I wouldn't have slid over the edge
if your white devil-wagon hadn't made me dodge out of the way. How'd
it--Wow!"

The voice below broke off with a startled whoop.

"What's the matter?" called Matt.

"The bush pulled out a little," was the answer, "and I thought I was
gone. Rush things up there, will you?"

At that moment Carl came with the rope, and Matt, standing above the
place where he supposed the unseen speaker to be, allowed the noosed
end to slide down to him.

"I've got it!" cried the voice. "Are you ready to lay on?"

"Catch hold, Carl," said Matt, "and brace yourself. All ready," he
shouted, when he and Carl were planted firmly with the rope in their
hands.

"Then here goes!"

The rope grew taut under a suddenly imposed weight, and Matt and Carl
laid back on it and hauled in.




CHAPTER II.

DICK FERRAL.


A young fellow of seventeen or eighteen crawled over the brink of the
chasm and sat on the rocks to breathe himself. The lamps of the Red
Flier shone full on him, so that Matt and Carl were easily able to take
his sizing.

He wore a flannel shirt, cowboy-hat and high-heeled boots. His trousers
were tucked in his boot-tops. His bronzed face was clean-cut, and he
had clear, steady eyes.

"Wouldn't that just naturally rattle your spurs?" he asked, looking
Matt and Carl over as he talked. "I thought you fellows had put a stamp
on that rope and were sending it by mail. It seemed like a good while
coming, but maybe that was because I was hangin' to a twig and three
leaves with the skin of my teeth." He swerved his eyes to the Red
Flier. "You've lit your candles," he added, "since you scared me out of
a year's growth by flashin' around that bend. If you'd had the lights
going _then_, I guess I could have crowded up against the cliff instead
of makin' a jump t'other way and going over the edge."

"You vas wrong mit dot," said Carl. "It vasn't us vat come along und
knocked you py der gulch."

"That's the truth," added Matt, noting the stranger's startled
expression. "We were following that other automobile, and stopped when
we heard you yell."

Without a word the rescued youth got up and went back to give the
Red Flier a closer inspection. When he returned, he seemed entirely
satisfied that he had made a mistake.

"I did slip my hawser on that first idea, and no mistake," said he. "As
I went over, I saw out of the clew of my eye that the other flugee was
white. Yours is bigger, and painted different. What are your names,
mates?"

Matt introduced himself and Carl.

"I'm Dick Ferral," went on the other, shaking hands heartily, "and when
I'm at home, which is about once in six years, I let go the anchor in
Hamilton, Ontario. I'm a sailor, most of the time, but for the last
six months I've been punching cattle in the Texas Panhandle. A crimp
annexed my money, back there in Lamy, and I'm rolling along toward an
old ranch my uncle used to own, called La Vita Place. It can't be far
from here, if I'm not off my bearings. Where are you bound, mates, in
that steam hooker?"

"Santa Fé," answered Matt.

"Own that craft?" and Dick Ferral nodded toward the car.

"No; it belongs to a man named Tomlinson, who lives in Denver. Carl and
I brought it to Albuquerque for him. When we got there, we found a line
from him asking us to bring the car on to Santa Fé. If we got there in
two weeks he said it would be time enough, so we're jogging along and
taking things easy."

"If you've got plenty of time, I shouldn't think you'd want to do any
cruising in waters like these, unless you had daylight to steer by."

"We'd have reached the next town before sunset," Matt answered, "if we
hadn't had trouble with a tire."

"It was a good thing for me you were behind your schedule, and happened
along just after I turned a handspring over the cliff. If you hadn't,
Davy Jones would have