CHAPTER XII. A STARTLING MYSTERY.

Matt, on leaving the garage, gave a hasty look around for Uncle Tom. The old negro was not in sight. Matt could not spend any time looking for him, in that particular place, and ran for the road, hoping to find Uncle Tom waiting for him farther on.

In this he was not disappointed. Well toward the place where Matt had had his memorable interview with his cowboy pard, the negro pushed out of the undergrowth.

“Marse Matt,” he chattered, “Ah’s been er-waitin’. Ah ’low’ed ye’d come dishyer way. Whut done happen tuh dat Kelly?”

“I got away from him,” Matt answered.

“By golly, Ah got away, too. Nevah run so fas’ en mah life. Five times fo’ is fifty. Yo’ all ain’t er-fo’gittin’ dat, is yuh?”

“No, Uncle Tom; I’m not forgetting anything.”

Matt had nearly a hundred dollars in his pocket, and if he had not thought he was going to need considerable extra money for his trip back to the city he’d been given the negro nearly the whole of it.

“There’s your fifty, Uncle Tom,” said Matt. “You go to Hempstead and stay with Topsy until you can find another job.”

“Ah doan’ want no job twell Ah git out ob money, marse, en den Ah’s hopin’ ye’ll be ready tuh take me on as yo’ private mascot. Ah tells yuh, marse, yo’s monsus short on luck, seems lak. Yo’s had a powahful bad streak to-day. Where’d yo’ hab been ef it hadn’t been fo’ Ole Tom? Golly, Ah’s afeared tuh guess!”

“How did you know I was up there over the garage?”

“Ah seed yo’ when yo’ was brought intuh de garage, marse. Marse Whitmore, at de clubhouse, done sent me tuh ask Kelly somethin’, en Kelly wasn’t erroun’ de place. Ah waited; den Ah seed yo’ come in froo de back do’, yo’ han’s all tied lak dey was, en Ah jess scrooched down behin’ a car an’ waited twell yo’ was took to Kelly’s room. Den Ah went off tuh think whut all Ah was gwine tuh do tuh help yo’. Ah clean fo’got ’bout Marse Whitmore. Went tuh hunt him up, but he had done lef’ de place where he was. De idee got intuh mah ole haid dat Ah could git Kelly away fom de garage by tellin’ him somebody else wanted tuh see him, en Ah wo’ked hit out, yassuh. En she wo’ked, didn’t she? Yo’ knows ’bout dat. Say, marse, is five times fo’ fifty er skiventy? ’Pears lak Ah ain’t jess right en mah ’rithmetic.”

“It’s nearer fifty than seventy, Uncle Tom. If I could spare any more money, though, I’d give it to you.”

“Yo’s allers gen’rous lak dat, en dat’s de reason Ah likes tuh mascot fo’ yo’. When does yo’ all think yo’ll need me?”

“I can’t tell that for a while, Uncle Tom. You go to Hempstead and stay with Topsy. That’s the place for you. You’re getting altogether too old to work.”

“Huccome yo’ lef’ Denvah? Whar yo’ all been, huh?”

“I’ve been in a good many places, Uncle Tom, since I left Denver. I’m certainly going to do something for you, Uncle Tom,” answered Matt; “but I can’t say just when.”

“Ah’s got fifty-five dollahs, marse, en hit’ll las’ me er long while, yassuh, but doan’ yo’ git de notion hit’ll las’ too long. When hit plays out Ah wants tuh wo’k fo’ yo’.”

“I’ll have to hurry, Uncle Tom,” said Matt. “You can stroll along to Hempstead and take your time; but I’ve got important business in New York.”

“Yo’s allers doin’ somethin’. Nevah seed sich a fellah fo’ bein’ evahlastin’ly on de go. Ah’m gwine tuh root fo’ yo’, marse. ’Deed Ah is. When good luck come yo’ way, jess yo’ ricollect hit’s Uncle Tom mascottin’. But Ah can do a heap bettah at dat ef Ah’m ’long clos’ tuh yo’. Dishyer long-range mascottin’ done li’ble tuh wind up on er snag. ’Membah dat, too.”

“I’ll remember everything, Uncle Tom,” said Matt. “You stay in Hempstead with Topsy. Good-by.”

“Good-by, Marse Matt.”

Matt shook the darky’s hand warmly, turned and hurried on along the road.

Uncle Tom was a grafter, but nevertheless Matt had a warm place in his heart for the old fellow. His peculiarities were all on the humorous side, and Matt could have enjoyed his talk if circumstances had been different.

While Matt was striding onward, his thoughts keeping pace with his swift gait, he heard suddenly the hum of a motor in the distance.

All motors have the same sort of music. The tempo changes with work at the throttle, but a trained ear can follow the shifting gears; and, now and then, there’s a man who will recognize his car by the croon of the engine alone.

It seemed to Matt that there was something familiar in the sound he heard.

The road, for a long distance at that particular point, lay in a straight stretch.

The car was coming toward Matt, but the trees on either side of the road made the approaching machine indistinct. Their boughs dropped low, and the deep shadows of the westering sun lay heavily across the thoroughfare.

Suddenly Matt caught a glimpse of white flashing in the gloom.

The runabout! ran his startled thought.

Yes, undoubtedly it was the strange hoodoo car that was approaching.

What did it mean?

Were Levitt and McGlory returning to the Country Club? Had they found the car more than they could manage, and were they taking it back to the garage?

This did not seem a satisfactory explanation, and yet Matt could think of nothing else.

At a halt in the middle of the road Matt waited for the car to draw near. If McGlory was in the machine, that was as good a time as any for a meeting and an explanation.

But the cowboy was not in the car, nor was Levitt, so far as Matt could see, or anybody else.

The car was on the reverse, and backing down the road, most marvelously keeping a straight line, although now and then lurching sideways a little and narrowly escaping the trunk of a tree at the roadside.

Here was a startling mystery!

What had happened to McGlory and Levitt?

While Matt wondered, he was making preparations to board the car and do his best to get it under control.

It was coming at a slow rate of speed, and to leap aboard would not be difficult.

When within a dozen feet of the young motorist, the car seemed to recognize an enemy and to attempt to turn aside.

Matt ran forward, stopped, executed a flying leap and gained the running board. Another moment and he was in the driver’s seat and had brought the car to a halt.

The reverse gear was engaged, so the runabout had ample warrant for crawfishing along the road.

There was nothing in the car, however, that offered any clue to the mystery of what had become of the two who had taken the runabout from the Country Club garage.

Matt got down and made a hurried examination. The car was in as good condition as ever, and rebuffed his efforts at getting clues.

There was something uncanny about the machine. Matt admitted it to himself. It acted in a way that defied all explanation, at times, and that alone was enough to get on a chauffeur’s nerves.

Perhaps Billy was right, and that the “double hoodoo,” in some incomprehensible manner, was accountable for the car’s tantrums.

So far as McGlory and Levitt were concerned, there was a possibility that the car had misbehaved so outrageously that they had put on the reverse and cast it adrift, to go where it would.

But there were other travelers in the road to think of. Levitt and McGlory would scarcely take chances of wrecking some other machine, or of running down a carriage, or some pedestrian.

Matt was deeply puzzled.

“Well,” he thought, “I want a way to return to New York, and here it is. It meets me on the road, and I should be foolish not to take advantage of it. Quite likely Joe and Levitt have found other and more satisfactory means for reaching the city. I don’t blame them for changing to another car, if they had the opportunity, or for taking a railroad train if they happened to be conveniently near one. There’s no railroad very close to this place, though, and the runabout couldn’t have come far, with no one in control.”

There was enough gas in the cylinders so that the motor took the spark. The runabout leaped ahead, perfectly obedient to Matt’s hand.

As he swept along he looked and listened for some signs of McGlory and Levitt. He came upon the two missing passengers suddenly--and what he saw caused him to jam down hard on the brakes and leap from the car before it was fairly at a stop.