Chapter VII: A Hard Starter

Hunting four thieves as shrewd as were Jurgens, Whistler, Bangs, and the young fellow who had helped them, looked like a tremendous order to Motor Matt. And recovering the diamonds made the prospect seem even more discouraging.

Matt, however, was on his mettle. He had given his promise, perhaps rashly, to Townsend, and Townsend, as well as every one else, knew that Motor Matt's word was as good as his bond.

_He had promised to recover the diamonds!_

Townsend's mention of the Obeah woman had had not a little to do with the promise.

The woman's name was Yamousa, and she lived in a hut near a bayou of the same name. Matt knew the place well, for he and his chums had stopped there, a few days before, had been of some service to Yamousa, and had been repaid by her in a way that had caused, and was still causing, them any amount of wonder.

The voodoo priestess apparently possessed powers of divination that were inexplicable. Her arts may have been wholly trickery, but, if so, a wonderful chain of coincidences had lent a cast of truth to her magic.

Matt had no belief in the supernatural, and his common sense was constantly struggling against the results of Yamousa's occult powers, as he and his friends had witnessed them. As a last resort, it might be possible to consult Yamousa with some show of success in this matter of the stolen gems.

This, at least, was what Matt had in mind when he left Townsend. The authorities, knowing the ins and outs of the Crescent City so well, could do infinitely more in the town than could Matt and his friends.

Without loss of time, Matt returned to the small hotel near Stuyvesant Dock, where he, Dick, and Carl had taken up their quarters. Dick and Carl were in their room, dressed and waiting to hear what Matt had to say.

Quickly as he could, the young motorist set forth the amazing events of the night. The sailor and the Dutch boy were greatly wrought up.

"Carl and I are loaded to the marks with all the blame," scowled Dick.

"Ve made some popples," wailed Carl, "und dey vas vat dit der pitzness."

"What's the use of doubles, anyhow?" went on Dick.

"Vyefer do two people look so mooch alike in dis vorlt?" added Carl. "I vonder oof I haf a touple? Oof I haf, he must be a bicture, aber I hope he don'd shove indo anyt'ing vat habbens mit me."

"You boys made only a natural mistake," said Matt. "That levee policeman was fooled, Cassidy was deceived, and so was Townsend. How can you blame yourselves when every one else took this double of mine just as you did?"

"You've got a way, mate," observed Dick gratefully, "of tacking about and trimming your sails to any breeze that blows in order to make things easier for your friends; but Carl and I know that we're responsible for the whole blessed business."

"Well, if you're bound to have it so, let it go at that. I've promised Townsend to hunt the thieves until I recover the diamonds. That means the work of our lives, for it's a promise I intend to live up to."

"Py shinks," cried Carl, "you can gount on me to do all vat I can to helup."

"Aye, old ship," said Dick, "and me. Just show us where to begin and we'll tear into the work like a couple of navvies. It's the best we can do to square ourselves."

"Led us dry und be as jeerful as ve can," suggested Carl. "Dot iss pedder dan to be gloomed oop so mooch, hey?"

"You've raised the point that bothers me, Dick," said Matt, "and that is, where to begin. The police are already at work in New Orleans, but I haven't any idea that they'll be successful. We're dealing with clever men, and mustn't forget that for a minute. Ever since the diamonds were found, Jurgens and Whistler seem to have been watching Townsend. They had a spy across the street keeping an eye on the house where he is lying ill."

"Townsend missed it by not having that outfit jugged when he was able. If every man jack of them had been sent to the brig, we wouldn't be up against this proposition now."

"No use crying over spilt milk," returned Matt. "Townsend realizes that he failed to do what he should have done, and it's that that worries him now. We'll take things as we find them and forge ahead. There's one point we can look up, although it isn't very promising."

"Name it, mate."

"My double was taken from the levee in a carriage. It may have been one of Jurgens' gang who helped him out of his trouble."

"The fellow didn't look like any of the gang."

"There may be some new members we don't know anything about. If we can find the man who drove the carriage, we could discover where he took that young fellow."

"What good would that do? Jurgens and his outfit wouldn't come back to that place. I'll lay a sov the lot of them tripped anchor and bore away the minute the stones came into their hands."

"That's my idea, Dick. I told you the clue wasn't very promising, but it appears to be the only one we have. Townsend, however, suggested something which had also occurred to me."

"Vat it iss?" queried Carl. "I don'd vas mooch oof a handt to dig oop clues, aber I bed you I can tell a goot clue ven I come face to face mit it. Shpeak it oudt, Matt."

"Why not bear away in the air ship to Bayou Yamousa?"

Carl began to shiver.

"Nod dere! Ach, py shinks, don'd have somet'ing to do mit dot olt shpook laty again."

Carl's superstitious fears did not weigh very heavily with Matt and Dick. The latter slapped his hands.

"First chop!" he cried. "It's the last shot in the locker, and who knows but that it may be just the thing for us to do? I'm for beginning the trip to Bayou Yamousa now. It's a still night, mates, and we could get the _Hawk_ off the dock without any trouble. She's ripe and ready for the flight of her life!"

"It's a still night, that's true, Dick," answered Matt, "but you forget that we have got to have daylight for finding the bayou. We can't locate it in the dark."

"But we're losing time," grumbled Dick, "and we haven't any to throw at the birds."

"The more haste, the less speed," counseled Matt. "Better to go slow and be sure of what we're doing, Dick, than to run wild and get tangled up in our bearings. We'd probably lose more time in the end if we did that."

"But Jurgens and his gang are getting farther and farther away all the time."

"They'll go into hiding somewhere, if I'm any prophet, until the affair blows over a little. If Yamousa can tell us where they are----"

"Don'd try dot," put in Carl earnestly. "She vill vork a hogus-pogus und meppy ged all oof us indo drouple."

"We're going to pay Yamousa a visit, Carl," said Matt firmly. "There's nothing else we can do. The police will be able to handle this end of the work much better than we could. Go to bed, both of you. I'm going over to police headquarters and tell the chief about the carriage that took the man and the young fellow away from the levee. As soon as I do that, I'll come back and pull covers myself. In the morning we'll have breakfast, and then we'll make a start for the bayou."

As usual, Matt's ideas prevailed. Dick and Carl went to bed, Matt had a talk with the city authorities and gave as much further information as he thought would help them, and then returned to the hotel and turned in.

By seven in the morning they were up and eating their breakfast. Breakfast over, Matt sent Carl to the post office for any mail that might be there--he was constantly receiving letters from various parts of the country relative to the _Hawk_--and he and Dick started for Stuyvesant Dock to make ready for the flight south and east.

On the way to the dock, Matt bought a morning paper. There was a brief and garbled account of the robbery, but it had little interest for the boys, although they had bought the paper in order to see what it had to say about the diamonds.

But there was a paragraph of overwhelming interest to the lads tucked away in one corner of the first page. Matt's eye caught the paragraph casually, then he gasped and his consternation grew, as he read:

"NOTED VOODOO WOMAN DEAD.

"From Chef Menteur, in the Parish of Orleans, comes news of the death
of a famous character in those parts known as Yamousa, priestess
of the voodoos. Years ago she lived in New Orleans, numbering her
followers by hundreds, but was driven away by the police and found
refuge on Bayou Yamousa. Those with any faith in the black arts
credited the aged negress with being an adept in her particular line,
but others with more common sense and less superstition considered
her a grafter of remarkable ability. Her death, it is supposed, was
the result of natural causes."

Here was a blow, and no mistake. Matt, greatly dejected, read the paragraph to Dick.

"Keelhaul me!" exclaimed Dick. "We're up in the air now for fair. Your luck seems to have taken a turn for the worse, Matt. What are we going to do? The last prop has been knocked out from under us."

The boys reached the dock and seated themselves moodily on a cotton bale not far from the _Hawk_.

Matt had not the remotest idea what they were to do. Yamousa had been their last hope, and a strange fatality had suddenly snatched it away from them.

"The outlook is getting more and more dubious," said Matt. "Yamousa might not have been able to help us, but there was a chance that she could. Now the chance, slim enough at best, is gone. It's a lucky thing, though, that I bought the paper and found that notice. If I hadn't, we might have been wasting time, off in the southeast. If----"

"Ledders! ledders. Dree oof dem!"

Carl, at that moment, came ambling across the dock, dodging the boxes and bales and hurrying toward Matt and Dick. As he approached he held up the three letters he had secured at the post office.

They were all for Motor Matt, two of them having been forwarded from Atlantic City. One was from an amusement manager in Chicago, offering a fancy figure to the boys to take the _Hawk_ to the great lakes for exhibition purposes; another was from an enthusiastic member of the Aëro Club of America asking the boys their price for the air ship; but the third letter--that was the one that caused them to sit up and take notice. It ran as follows:

"From what I've heard of you, you're a one-two-seven boy and all
to the good. How'd you like to get your lunch hooks on that bag of
sparks? You can pull it off, if you get busy, and the undersigned
will help. All you need is nerve and ginger. I can furnish my share.
You've got an air ship. Well, hit the clouds and fly to me. I'll put
you wise. Meet me at Bayou Yamousa, wherever that is, and come in
a hurry. I'm going there now and I've got the start of you by some
hours. This is a hot starter, and no 'con.'

"A DUB WHO OUGHT TO HAVE KNOWN BETTER."