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  MOTOR STORIES

  THRILLING
  ADVENTURE

  MOTOR
  FICTION

  NO. 25
  AUG. 14, 1909

  FIVE
  CENTS


  MOTOR MATT'S
  REVERSE

  OR CAUGHT IN
  A LOSING CAUSE

  _BY THE AUTHOR
  OF "MOTOR MATT"_

  [Illustration: _"Are you hurt"? cried the girl,
  as Motor Matt lifted himself
  and looked toward her._]

  STREET & SMITH
  PUBLISHERS
  NEW YORK




MOTOR STORIES

THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION

_Issued Weekly._ _By subscription $2.50 per year._ _Copyright, 1909,
by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._

  =No. 25.=      NEW YORK, August 14, 1909.      =Price Five Cents.=




MOTOR MATT'S REVERSE;

OR,

Caught in a Losing Cause.

By the author of "MOTOR MATT."




TABLE OF CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I. PLOTTERS THREE.
  CHAPTER II. THE NEW AEROPLANE.
  CHAPTER III. TREACHERY AND TRAGEDY.
  CHAPTER IV. MURGATROYD'S FIRST MOVE.
  CHAPTER V. A STARTLING PLAN.
  CHAPTER VI. THE AIR LINE INTO TROUBLE.
  CHAPTER VII. NOTHING DOING IN SYKESTOWN.
  CHAPTER VIII. BROUGHT TO EARTH.
  CHAPTER IX. THE COIL TIGHTENS.
  CHAPTER X. THE DOOR IN THE HILLSIDE.
  CHAPTER XI. A REVELATION FOR MATT.
  CHAPTER XII. PECOS TAKES A CHANCE.
  CHAPTER XIII. BESIEGED.
  CHAPTER XIV. THE BROKER'S GAME.
  CHAPTER XV. CANT PHILLIPS, DESERTER.
  CHAPTER XVI. THE LOSING CAUSE.
  THE DOCTOR'S RUSE.
  STRANDED ON A CHIMNEY.
  A SCRIMMAGE OF LIONS.
  DREDGING FOR GOLD.




CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.


  =Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.

  =Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and
  character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A
  good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.

  =Ping Pong=, a Chinese boy who insists on working for Motor Matt, and
  who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable.

  =Amos Murgatroyd=, an enemy of Motor Matt, and who cleverly
  manipulates the various wires of a comprehensive plot only to find
  that he has championed a losing cause.

  =Amy=, Murgatroyd's niece, who helps right and justice, turning
  against a relative in order to befriend a stranger.

  =Siwash Charley=, a ruffianly assistant of Murgatroyd who proves to
  be one Cant Phillips, a deserter from the army.

  =Pecos Jones=, who has no principles worth mentioning, plays a double
  part with friend and foe, and abruptly vanishes.

  =Lieutenant Cameron=, an officer in the Signal Corps, U. S. A., who
  proves to be the cousin of an old friend of Matt, and who nearly
  loses his life when the aëroplane is tested.




CHAPTER I.

PLOTTERS THREE.


"There's no use talkin', Siwash," and Pecos Jones leaned disgustedly
back against the earth wall of the dugout; "he's got one o' these here
charmed lives, that feller has, and it ain't no manner o' use tryin' to
down him."

Siwash Charley was cramming tobacco into the bowl of a black pipe. He
halted operations long enough to give his companion an angry look out
from under his thick brows.

"Oh, ye're the limit, Pecos!" he grunted, drawing a match across the
top of the table and trailing the flame over the pipe bowl. "The cub's
human, an' I ain't never yet seen a human bein' that couldn't be
downed--purvidin' ye went about it right."

Pecos Jones scowled discontentedly.

"Then I opine," said he, "ye ain't got sense enough to know how to
go about it. That last attempt at Fort Totten wasn't nothin' more'n
a flash in the pan. What did ye accomplish, huh? Tell me that. Here
y' are, holed up in this dugout an' not darin' to show yer face where
it'll be seen an' reckernized. The sojers want ye, an' they want ye
bad. Ye come purty nigh doin' up a leftenant o' the army, an' that's
why the milingtary is on yer trail, but if they knowed as much o' yer
hist'ry as I do, they'd be arter ye a lot worse'n what they----"

"Stow it!" roared Siwash Charley, leaning toward his companion and
bringing a fist down on the table with force enough to make the flame
leap upward in the chimney of the tin lamp. "Ye'll hush arbout my past
hist'ry, Jones, or thar'll be doin's between you an' me."

The place where this conversation was going forward was a hole in the
hillside--an excavation consisting of a single room with a door and a
window in the front wall. A shelf of earth running around three walls
offered a place to sit, as well as a convenient ledge for the stowage
of food supplies and cooking utensils.

The window was darkened with a blanket, so that the light would not
shine through and acquaint any chance passers with the fact that the
interior of the hill was occupied.

Pecos Jones was a little ferret of a man. His face had "undesirable
citizen" written all over it.

Siwash Charley was larger, and on the principle that there can be more
villain in a large package than in a small one, Siwash was the more
undesirable of the two.

He banged the table and scowled so savagely that Pecos Jones pulled
himself together with a startled jerk. Before he could say anything,
however, a set of knuckles drummed on the door.

Pecos gasped, and stared in affright at Siwash. The latter muttered
under his breath, grabbed up a revolver that was lying on the table and
stepped to the door.

"Who's thar?" he demanded huskily.

"Murg," came a muffled reply from the other side of the door.

Siwash laughed, shoved a bolt, and pulled the door wide.

"Come in, Murg," said he. "I was sorter expectin' ye."

A smooth-faced man, wearing gauntlets, a long automobile coat, and with
goggles pushed up above the visor of his cap, stepped into the room. He
carried a rifle over his arm, and for a moment he stood blinking in the
yellow lamplight.

Siwash Charley closed the door.

"Got yer ottermobill fixin's on, eh?" said he, facing about after
the door had been bolted; "an' by jings, if ye ain't totin' of er
Winchester. Them fellers at Totten arter you, too, Murg?"

Murgatroyd's little, gimlet-like eyes were becoming used to the
lamplight. They shot a reproving glance at Siwash, then darted to Pecos
Jones.

"Who's that?" he asked curtly.

"Him?" chuckled Siwash. "Oh, he's the Artful Dodger. I reckon he does
more dodgin' across the international boundary line than ary other
feller in the Northwest. Whenever things git too hot fer Pecos Jones
in North Dakotay, he dodges inter Manitoby, and vicer verser. Hoss
stealin' is his line."

"Never stole a hoss in my life!" bridled Pecos Jones.

"Thunder!" snickered Siwash. "Why, I've helped ye."

"How does Pecos Jones happen to be here?" demanded Murgatroyd.

"He got ter know this place o' mine while we was workin' tergether.
Arter that flyin' machine was tried out at Fort Totten, o' course I had
ter <DW72> ter some quiet spot whar I could go inter retirement, an'
this ole hang-out nacherly suggested itself. When I blowed in hyer, lo!
an' behold, hyer was Pecos."

Murgatroyd appeared satisfied. Standing his rifle in one corner, he
pulled off his gauntlets and thrust them in his pockets, sat down on
the earth shelf, and hooked up one knee between his hands. For a while
he sat regarding Siwash reflectively.

"Is Pecos Jones known at Fort Totten?" he asked.

"Bet yer life I ain't," said Pecos for himself. "What's more," he
added, nibbling at a slab of tobacco, "I don't want ter be."

"He works mostly around Turtle Mounting," explained Siwash Charley.
"Why?"

"I think he can be useful to us," answered Murgatroyd. "Those other two
fellows who helped you at Totten--where are they, Siwash?"

"They was nigh skeered ter death, an' made a bee line fer Winnipeg."

"That was a bad bobble you made at Totten," resumed Murgatroyd. "Motor
Matt, in spite of you, put Traquair's aëroplane through its paces, met
the government's requirements in every particular, and the machine was
sold to the war department for fifteen thousand dollars."

"Things didn't work right," growled Siwash. "I tampered with that thar
machine the night before the trials--loosened bolts an' screws an'
filed through the wire guy ropes--but nothin' happened till the flyin'
machine was done sailin' an' ready ter come down; then that cub, Motor
Matt, got in some lightnin' headwork an' saved the machine, saved
himself, an' likewise that there Leftenant Cameron of the Signal Corps."

"The boy's got a charmed life, I tell ye," insisted Pecos Jones. "I've
heerd talk, up around Turtle Mounting, about what he's done."

"Think of a full-grown man like Pecos Jones talkin' that-a-way!"
exclaimed Siwash derisively.

"Motor Matt is clever," said Murgatroyd musingly, "and I made a mistake
in sizing him up. But there's a way to get him."

"What do you want to 'get' him fer?" inquired Pecos Jones.

Murgatroyd drew three gold pieces from his pocket and laid them in a
little stack on the table, just within the glint of the lamplight.

"Pecos Jones," said he, "Siwash, here, has vouched for you. In the
little game I'm about to play we need help. You can either take that
money and obey orders, or leave it and get out."

There was a silence, while Pecos eyed the gold greedily. After a
little reflection he brushed the coins from the table and dropped them
clinking into his pocket.

"I'm with ye," said he. "What's wanted?"

"That's the talk," approved Murgatroyd. "Our plans failed at the
aëroplane trials,[A] but I've got another scheme which I am sure will
win. You know, Siwash, and perhaps Pecos knows it as well, that Motor
Matt was demonstrating that aëroplane for Mrs. Traquair, who lives in
Jamestown. Motor Matt came meddling with the business which I had with
the woman, and the fifteen thousand, paid by the government for the
aëroplane, was divided between Mrs. Traquair and Matt. Half----"

[A] What Murgatroyd's plans were, and why they failed, was set forth in
No. 24 of the MOTOR STORIES, "Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for
Fame and Fortune."

"We know all that," cut in Siwash.

"Well, then, here's something you don't know. Mrs. Traquair has a
quarter