Chapter XI: A Friend From the Enemy's Camp

"You blokes are wise guys--I don't think," grinned Dashington. "Motor Matt is cracked up to be such a phenom. that I had a warm guess he'd know who wrote that letter first crack out of the box."

"What letter are you talking about?" demanded Matt.

"The one you found in your mail this morning. My stationery wasn't the sort they use in polite correspondence, but I was in luck to have even that. An old letter of Bangs', Bangs' notebook and Bangs' pencil helped me out. I'll bet eight big iron louies you never once suspected me of dropping that letter in the mails; and yet, who else was there for you to suspect? Didn't think Jurgens would do it, did you? Or Whistler? Or Bangs? Get wise, Motor Matt, get wise. There's work ahead for the lot of us, and the longer we hang off about it, the harder it's likely to be."

Matt and his friends listened to this line of talk with a good deal of wonder, but they were not disposed, just then, to take Dashington's word for anything.

"You say you wrote that letter?" queried Matt, noting how the youth's talk harmonized with the letter's contents.

"Want me to make a song out of it and set it to music? You haul considerable freight, in a general way, but you haven't taken on much of a load this trip."

"You're the swab Carl and I gave the letter to on the levee, all right," spoke up Dick.

"Thanks for the word. Swab! That expresses it nicely. Because of that letter, which I didn't want, I got rung into the biggest Jonah play that ever hip-locked with me. As a consequence my ticket is merely a souvenir. And now here comes Motor Matt and roughs things up in good old Texas style. That's dead tough luck and would bring tears to a pair of glass eyes."

"You stole the diamonds?"

"I played understudy to Motor Matt and lifted the sparks. I walked two long blocks with them concealed upon my person, then Whistler handed me a fistful of fives twice, right where they started the slumber song. Was I down? Yes, indeed, and for several minutes. When I rounded to and took a fresh grasp of the situation, Jurgens, Whistler and Bangs had chugged away in their auto and had forgotten to leave the dazzlers."

"Ah!" said Matt grimly. "You robbed Townsend and then Jurgens and his men robbed you."

"I hope I may drop if that wasn't the way of it. It was a lesson for me, I think; anyhow, it's a mortal cinch I got a horrible sorry on for what I'd done. 'They played me for a mark,' I says to myself, 'and got the sparklers; now I'll turn to and help Motor Matt get them back again.' That's why I wrote that letter, and I dropped it in a mail box just before I pushed off in a boat and floated down the river. Happened to meet a colored brother fishing; I told him I wanted to go to Bayou Yamousa, and the colored brother happened to know the way; also he happened to have a mule and a wagon, and he brought me here. I didn't think you'd be along before night, and I was just keeping myself as retired as possible while waiting for you to get here. This shanty looked good to me, and as I was some fagged on account of the night's labor, I locked the door, stretched myself out and have been pounding my ear ever since."

"How did you know Jurgens, Whistler and Bangs were coming to this place?" asked Matt.

His confidence in Dashington was increasing. This would not have been the case had Dashington tried to deny, or smooth over, the part he had played in the robbery. He was cheerfully admitting his guilt, and the cause he had for turning against Jurgens and his men seemed sufficiently adequate.

Dashington told how he had discovered the coat, and showed the memorandum book found in the pocket. The notation: "If our plant works, and we get separated after the diamonds are lifted, am to meet J. and W. at Bayou Yamousa," appealed particularly to Matt. It showed Dashington's reason for coming to Bayou Yamousa, and for asking Matt and his friends to join him there.

"Do you know positively," asked Matt, "that Jurgens is in this vicinity?"

"I've seen their camp," replied Dashington, "but I was foxy enough not to let them see me. I'm not altogether a flat, even if I did let Jurgens and Company touch me up and pull their chestnuts out of the blaze. I've about decided to cut out the crooked work entirely, and it's up to Motor Matt and his pals to give me a fresh chance. Of course you can pinch me, and land me in the pen, but that would hardly be square after I have helped you get back the diamonds."

"Who are you?" said Matt.

"Joe Dashington, with the accent on the 'dash.'"

"Where are you from?"

"Every place. I seem to have broken out in New Orleans just at the right time to mix things for everybody. Don't let it get past you that I didn't know what I was up against when Jurgens asked me to lift the stones. I was on the make, and went into it with my eyes wide. I'm not turning on the gang entirely because I have a grouch, but because I've about concluded that bunko work is a losing game."

"You're right about that, Dashington," averred Matt. "Crooked business is bad business, and you show your good sense in wanting to cut loose from it. What do you expect of us?"

"I'm in wrong," replied Dashington, "but maybe I can get over that if you'll help. Suppose I join you and help you recover the diamonds. Will that pay for letting me start for unknown regions, and then doing the nice, genteel dip for the rest of the time I'm on earth?"

"I don't know why it won't," said Matt, in a kindly tone. "You look to me like a chap who could do big things if you went at it in the right way."

"Landed! Landed and strung! I'm hooked, King, and you might give me your hand. I've got the gaff from the strong-arm push for the last time. Just have your pal put that gun in his pocket and I'll feel easier."

"Put up the thing, Dick," said Matt. "Dash can be trusted. He's going to help us recover the diamonds, and in return for his service we're to let him go wherever he wants to."

"Aber vill he make goot mit vat he says?" chirped Carl.

"I'm Class A at making good," said Dashington, "when I tackle a job of my size. I can handle this one. But where's the balloonobile, the flying wonder that has shaken the Crescent City from centre to circumference, and clear across to Algiers? I haven't noticed it," and Dashington stepped to the door and made a hasty survey of the shore of the bayou.

"You're looking too low, mate," said Dick. "She bounced up on a live oak and you can't see her for moss."

Dashington whirled with a jump.

"Wrecked?"

"Demolished. She's sailed the skies for the last time, and it was a bullet brought her down."

"A bullet?"

"Yes," put in Matt. "It was fired from somewhere in the timber, put the motor out of business and made holes in the gas bag. We all of us had narrow escapes----"

"You look the part."

"Have you any idea who fired that shot?"

A worried expression came over Dashington's face.

"Who else but some of that sure-thing crowd?" he returned. "This boggles the situation. They know you're here, and when they find you weren't finished up out of hand they'll come looking for you. This sort of puts a crimp in our prospects, Motor Matt. Getting the sparks isn't going to be so easy. Jurgens and his crowd are over by the wagon road with an automobile, and if they think we're wise to them they may take the machine and hike."

"We've got to get back those diamonds," declared Matt.

"If we don't, I'd look pretty asking you to pull the pin on me, wouldn't I? Sure we've got to get 'em back, but----"

"Belay there, with your jaw tackle," came excitedly from Dick, in a half whisper.

He had been standing by the open door, and he suddenly drew back and hurried up to the other boys.

"Jurgens just showed up on the bank of the bayou," announced Dick, "and he looks as though he might be laying a course for the hut."

"We're double-crossed!" muttered Dashington. "The head knocker of the push will be next to us in half a minute, and that means a run to safety in the chug wagon with all hands and the sparks."

"No," said Matt, a thought darting through his mind. "There are enough of us here to capture Jurgens. He may find out about us, but he won't be able to get away with the information."

"Now you're making a noise like a winner," whispered Dashington exultantly. "That's the play. Around the door, lads, and grab him from all sides when he pushes in. Don't let him yell. If he manages to put up a roar, Whistler and Bangs will hear it and get curious. They've got rifles with them--and a bullet is a hard thing to dodge if it's sent right."

Jurgens was already close to the hut--so close that there was not the slightest doubt but that he was intending to investigate it. He was probably wondering what had become of the boys from the air ship, and was abroad with the intention of locating them, if possible.

Carl and Dick got behind the door, while Matt and Dashington pressed up close to the wall.

The footsteps came nearer and nearer, and then, just as Jurgens put his foot across the threshold, Matt and Dashington sprang for him.

Dashington threw his arms about the man's throat and hung to him like a leech, while Matt seized a hand he was pushing toward his hip. In the struggle that followed, all three fell through the door and rolled off the step and onto the ground.