Chapter X: The Unexpected

Ferral staggered to his feet.

"It's a regular monkey's fist to me," said he, "how we ever got out of that mess. The last I remember I was slamming into the branches of a tree, then something hit me and the sunshine was turned off. It can't be, mates, that I dropped clear through that tree and hit the ground? I'm tough, but I think I'd show more marks than I do if that had happened."

Matt explained how Dick had been got down out of the wreck of the _Hawk_.

"You lads must have had a rummy old time of it, hauling me around that tree top," went on Dick. "And so the good old _Hawk_ is done for! She carried us many a mile, mates, and we'll never see her like again unless----" He paused.

"Unless what?" queried Matt.

"Why, unless we can get her out of the tree and patch her up."

"Impossible, Dick. That would cost more than it would to build a new air ship. If we thought it worth while to do that, I have some new ideas I'd like to incorporate into the machine."

Dick's heaviness vanished a little.

"We've money enough in the bank, Matt," said he, "and if you say the word, we'll----"

"We'd better get out of the trouble this air ship has got us into, Dick," interrupted Matt, "before we think of building another."

"That's so. We look like a lot of ragamuffins. I'd like to clap eyes on that loafing longshore scuttler that brought us down! Can you make a guess as to who it was?"

"It might have been some superstitious negro hunter; or, as Carl suggested, Jurgens or one of his gang. If it was any of the latter, we have probably fallen into a snare. But if it was one of the robbers, why don't he show himself?"

"That may not be his game. What's our next move, Matt? We can't stand here boxing the compass when there's dirty weather ahead."

"I'm expecting the writer of that letter to put in an appearance. From what he wrote, I thought he would be here ahead of us."

"I tell you somet'ing!" exploded Carl. "He vas der feller mit der gun. He got us here und he bagged us, und now he don'd vant to come oudt vere ve can ged a look at him. I vould like to knock his plock off, yah, so helup me!"

"We might make a move in the direction of Yamousa's cabin," said Matt. "That would be a more comfortable place to wait than out here in the open."

"Don'd you nefer t'ink dot!" chattered Carl. "Der blace iss pad meticine. I bed you der olt foodoo's shpook haunts der capin."

"Avast, there, you flying Dutchman!" reproved Dick. "We don't believe in spooks. If you're afraid to go with us, Carl, you can heave to and drop your anchor right here."

"I go verefer you go, und dry und be as jeerful as bossiple, only I don'd like going to der shpook laty's house."

Matt and Dick set out around the edge of the bayou and were presently upon familiar ground. Dick indicated the spot where the _Hawk_ had been moored, upon the occasion of their first visit to the place, and it was there that Matt called a halt while they made a survey of the hovel where the Obeah woman had lived.

It had been decorated with bones of various kinds, when the chums saw the place first, but now the bones had disappeared. The door was closed, but there was a bucket standing beside the doorstep.

"From the looks," said Matt, "I should say that there is some one in the hut."

"Den dose peoble must haf been pad off for some blace to go," spoke up Carl.

"Mayhap the Jurgens outfit are in there?" said Dick.

"Just what I was thinking," continued Matt.

"Den ve'd pedder look a leedle oudt or ve vill be gedding indo some hod vater."

"You and Carl slip into the edge of the timber, Dick," said Matt, "and I'll go on ahead and do some reconnoitring. If the gang is there I'll find it out, and then I'll come back and we'll decide what it is best for us to do."

"You're cutting out all the rough work for yourself," demurred Dick.

"I'm the one best able to stand it," was the answer. "You're far from being yourself, old chap, and Carl is too much afraid of spooks to accomplish anything."

"I do feel a bit groggy on my feet, and that's a fact," admitted Ferral, staggering to the edge of the brush and dropping wearily down. "That nick on the head took the starch all out of me, but I'll feel better after a while. Go ahead, Matt, but don't stir up any trouble. We're not in shape to stand off that gang of pirates."

"I don't intend to let the scoundrels see me," Matt answered as he moved away.

Keeping to the edge of the timber, he was able to reach a point abreast of the hut without showing himself. From the place where he came to a halt he could look across a narrow stretch of clear ground and see a window in the rear wall of the hovel.

A look through the window would tell him all he wanted to know, and he dropped down on hands and knees and began crawling across the open space.

He appreciated to the full Dick's suggestion as to not stirring up trouble. Jurgens, according to Matt's surmise, probably had two men with him and the young fellow who had played the part of Matt in making the diamond haul. This made four against Matt and his two comrades--an overwhelming force, when it is remembered that undoubtedly the thieves were armed.

Matt gained the place under the window without making a noise; then, raising cautiously, he pressed his face to the glass.

To his disappointment, a piece of cloth had been placed over the window on the inside. A broken pane in the window, however, enabled him to listen for sounds which would let him know whether or not there was really any one in the hut.

There were no voices and no sound of any stir, but Matt's keen ear detected the slow, regular breathing of some one asleep. And there was only one sleeper--he was positive of that.

For a few moments he debated the question. Should he step boldly into the hut and find out who the person was, or would it be better to go back after Carl and Dick so as to have a superior force in case of a clash?

Matt decided that the move was for him to make. Going back into the edge of the timber, he cut himself a stout bludgeon; thus armed, he stepped quietly around to the front of the hut and laid a hand on the door.

It was locked.

A little examination assured him that the bolt was not strong enough to resist a determined onslaught, and he boldly hurled himself against the door.

It went crashing inward, and Matt pitched forward across the floor and almost lost his footing.

A shout of consternation went up, and Matt saw a form spring erect and stand facing him.

It was the form of a youth about Matt's own age, wearing a dingy sweater and frayed corduroy trousers. At the first glance each recognized the other.

"King, or I'm a Reub!"

"Great spark plugs! The fellow that played that dodge on Townsend!"

Matt cleared the distance separating him from the youth at a leap; but the other had jumped backward, at the same time pulling a weapon from his pocket.

"Don't you go and make a sucker play, Motor Matt!" cried Dashington warningly.

"Put up that revolver!" ordered Matt, staring sternly at the youth and taking a fresh grip on the handle of the club.

"You've got a picture of me making a funny play like that--I don't think. Throw away your club and I'll throw away this pepper box. Gee, but wouldn't it uppercut you, the way we resemble each other? Say, you ought to be delighted to see me instead of trying to make a pass at my block with that stick. I wasn't looking for you to drop in on me so soon."

"I doubt if you were expecting me to drop in on you at all," said Matt sarcastically. "Where are Jurgens, and Whistler, and Bangs?"

"Close by, cull. Don't make too much noise or they'll get next to you and me and blow in on us."

"Where are those diamonds?" asked Matt.

"Hand me an easy one."

"You ought to know. You're the one that stole them, and you stole them for Jurgens and his pals."

"Part of that's on the level. I did lift the bag of sparks, and it really seems as though I went to all that trouble for Jurgens and his pals. Anyhow, I didn't help myself so you could see it. Don't get to hearing funny noises under your bonnet, now, but drop the club and let's be sociable. If you---- Wow, but you're chain lightning, and then some!"

Quick as a flash Matt had thrown the club. It struck the revolver in Dashington's hand and knocked it clear to the opposite side of the room.

Before Dashington could recover it, Matt was upon him and there was a short wrestling match, catch-as-catch-can. Being far and away Dashington's superior in science, Matt was only about two minutes in laying his antagonist on his back. When they fell, they knocked over a table, and the racket it made brought a stifled cry to Dashington's lips.

"They'll get wise to us! You're queering yourself, King. Let me up, quick! I can hear some one coming."

"You're my prisoner!" said Matt sharply.

"We'll both be prisoners of Jurgens and his gang if you don't take a tumble to the rights of this. Let me up, I tell you, or----"

Just then the hurrying steps outside reached the door.

"What's going on here, Matt?" came the excited voice of Dick Ferral, as he and Carl flung into the room.

"I've just captured that double of mine," answered Matt. "If we hang onto him possibly we can make him tell us something about Jurgens and the diamonds."

"Oh, sister!" mumbled Dashington, "wouldn't that give your thinker a twist? Pass it up, King. If you won't take your knees off my chest, then give me a chance to heave a little of the straight guff at you."

"Pick up that revolver, Dick," said Matt, nodding toward the weapon. "Keep it in your hands and don't let this fellow lose your eyes for a moment. He wants to talk, and we're going to let him, but if he tries to bolt, he's going to wish that he had thought twice before he tried it."

Dick hurried to the weapon and gathered it in, then Matt got up and let Dashington regain his feet.