Chapter XV: The Government Trial

Matt awoke, on that memorable Tuesday, to find that fortune was favoring him with a clear sky and not enough wind to ripple the flag over the tent.

McGlory greeted him in a strangely subdued manner. The cowboy had a lot on his mind, and Matt rallied him about his odd reserve.

"Where's Ping?" asked Matt, noting that the little Chinaman was not hovering around his vicinity as usual.

"Give it up, pard," said McGlory. "Suppose he's off asking his joss to give you luck."

People were already gathering on the bluffs, and rounding up in wagons and automobiles in the near vicinity of Camp Traquair.

While Matt was looking over the aëroplane, Cameron brought several dignified, gold-laced officers, who had come from distant points to witness the trials. The lieutenant presented them, and the boyish, unaffected manner of the young motorist had a good effect on the representatives of the war department.

"You understand, do you, Motor Matt," said one of these gentlemen, "that you are to stay aloft two hours, with one passenger, and travel at the rate of thirty miles an hour?"

"Yes, sir," answered Matt. "I can stay aloft three hours just as well as two, and I think you will see the aëroplane do fifty miles instead of thirty."

The officers smiled at his enthusiasm. But they liked it, for it proved that his heart was in his work.

"Don't push the machine too hard," counseled one of the officers.

"I'll not do that, sir," said Matt. "Before I take up the lieutenant, I'll go up alone, to make sure that everything is working well. I have just found one of the propeller blades loosened--and that looks a good deal as though some one had been tampering with the machine. Of course, however," he added, "that's impossible, for the aëroplane has been guarded night and day."

"I'd wager my life on O'Hara," put in Cameron, confidently. "He had charge of last night's detail."

As Matt's examination went further, he found bolts loose, here and there. In fact, so many parts were weakened that the general result could hardly be called accidental. However, he liked O'Hara, and did not want to overturn the lieutenant's trust in him. So, saying nothing, he went on carefully with his examination, tightening everything that was loose.

At last he was satisfied that the aëroplane was in as good trim as ever.

"I'm a little late in starting," said he to McGlory and Cameron, "but it's always well to be on the safe side. Be ready, old chap," he added to the lieutenant, "when I come back from this little trial spin."

In a way that had become an old story to him and his friends, but which was intensely new and novel to nine out of every ten of the onlookers, Matt started the _June Bug_ along the road, lifted her into the air, and sailed her far out over the bluff and the lake.

Everything was working as well as usual. The air craft met the strain in every part, seemingly as staunch as she had always been. At a leisurely jog--just enough to keep the aëroplane afloat with the wings but slightly tilted--Matt turned above the lake and glided back to his starting point.

He had done no manoeuvring, attempted no speed, and had not tried to break his record for staying aloft. Nevertheless, the military representatives were enthusiastic.

"Wait until you see Matt put the machine through her paces," said the lieutenant, smiling confidently at his senior officer, as he took his place in the machine.

Two signal corps privates ran with the _June Bug_ to give her a start. The added weight of the lieutenant made her a little slower in taking the air, and not quite so swift in mounting upward, but Matt soon found that she was more easily managed with this additional ballast.

"By Jove," cried the lieutenant delightedly, "but this is fine! North Dakota has turned out a lot of people to see this exhibition, Matt. The bluffs are black with them, and everywhere you look you can see people with their faces upturned, either gaping in wonder or yelling with delight. Hear 'em cheer! I should think it would make your blood tingle."

"I haven't any time for all that," said Matt, busy with his levers, and watching everything with a keen, alert eye; "I've got something else to keep track of. You're watching the time?"

"Yes. It was ten-fifteen when we started."

Matt slowly speeded up the engine. The route, as already determined on, was to be across Devil's Lake and back, and then to Minnewaukon and back, going over the course as many times as he could during the two hours the aëroplane must stay in the air.

At a height of fifty feet above the surface of the earth, their flight through the air became a swirling rush. At top speed--a speed which Matt reckoned as fifty miles an hour--he made a wide, sweeping turn over the roof tops of Devil's Lake City, and plunged off across the lake. A frenzy of cheering arose from the bluffs and Camp Traquair as the aëroplane darted over them on her way to Minnewaukon.

"Can't we go higher, Matt?" begged the lieutenant.

"We'll go higher after we make the turn over Minnewaukon," Matt replied.

After that, Cameron did not bother Matt with questions. The young motorist's every faculty was wrapped up in his work. His ear alone told him how well the motor was doing, and his eyes, ears, and his sense of touch were brought into play in preserving the aëroplane's equilibrium.

The merest rise of one wing caused a mechanical shifting of the lever on which Matt constantly held his left hand.

That left hand of the young motorist had been trained to its work in many an automobile race, and its quickness and cunning did not fail him now.

There were some people still left in Minnewaukon--not all the town's inhabitants had gone to the bluffs or to Camp Traquair. Those that remained in the place assembled on the streets or on the roof tops, and cheered wildly as the aëroplane veered in a circle and rushed back toward Totten.

The official recorder was here, as in Devil's Lake City, noting the time, and jotting it down on a pad of paper.

Once turned toward Camp Traquair, Matt sent the aëroplane resolutely upward. Up and still up the craft glided, forced by the whirling propeller and supported by the air under the planes.

"How high do you think we are now, Cameron?" asked Matt.

"Three hundred feet, I should say," replied Cameron.

"I guess that will do. It's easier sailing up here. The air close to the earth's surface is in a constant state of agitation, but at this height it's quieter. Don't you notice how much smoother we're gliding?"

"I've been noticing that," said Cameron. "It's like a boat on a mill pond, only we're traveling like an express train."

Again they were over Camp Traquair, and again the wild cheering of the crowds reached their ears. They crossed the lake, turned, once more hovered over Camp Traquair, then glided downward to a height of a hundred feet, and rushed over the air line to Minnewaukon.

Three times they made the round trip. As they were coming back from Minnewaukon the third time, Cameron looked at his watch.

"The two hours are up, Matt," he announced, "and I am almost sorry for it. We'd better go down. You have won the test on every point, and the sale of the aëroplane to the government is assured. If you had a hand free, I'd give you a hearty grip along with my congratulations."

"Keep that until we land," laughed Matt.

The cheering came up to them like Bedlam let loose as they drew near Camp Traquair, and Matt slackened the pace, preparatory to descending.

Then it was that the unexpected--so far as Matt was concerned--happened.

There came a snap like the crack of a pistol, and Matt had a sudden vision of a writhing wire rope coiling viciously in the air. It missed him, but struck the lieutenant on the forehead.

Instinctively the lieutenant arose on the footboard, and tossed his arms. It was a fierce blow he had received, and unconsciousness had claimed him. Staggering in midair, he would have tottered off into space had it not been for the king of the motor boys.

Quick as a flash, Motor Matt caught the lieutenant's arm just in time to keep him from falling.

The accident was witnessed by the thousands of spectators gathered below. For an instant it seemed as though the fluttering aëroplane would be overturned and come rushing earthward; then, as the horrified people watched, the reeling lieutenant was dragged out of sight between the canvas planes, the aëroplane righted suddenly, glided downward, and dropped on her wheels in the road.

Matt's face was white, but his voice was steady as he called to those who were rushing toward the machine.

"Cameron is only stunned--he'll be all right in a little while. Here, lift him out and lay him on the ground."

One of the epauletted, gold-laced officers brushed a handkerchief across his forehead with a shaking hand.

"If he lives," said the officer, "he'll owe his life to Motor Matt. I never saw anything like that before, and I hope I never shall again. Gad, how it strains a man's nerves."

When Cameron was removed from the machine, Matt passed to the forward planes and examined the end of the broken wire guy.

"It was notched with a file," he asserted, "and for more than two hours Cameron and I have been playing with death, hundreds of feet in the air."

He passed rapidly to the wire stay supporting the forward planes on the opposite side.

"This, also, is notched," he added. "If this guy had snapped, nothing could have saved us!"

"What murderous scoundrel could have done it?" demanded a dozen fierce voices.

"His name is Siwash Charley," said Matt. "It must have been done last night. Find the scoundrel, if you can; he should be made to answer for this."