CHAPTER XIV. SENDING THE TELEGRAM.

The conductor, when he came through the train collecting tickets, was somewhat taken aback at the sight of Matt and McGlory.

“Where’d you get on?” he inquired, looking the boys over and grinning a little at McGlory’s bare head and dress suit.

“At Leeville,” said Matt.

“There was only one man got on at Leeville. I didn’t see you.”

“We climbed aboard the train on the side that was away from the station,” explained McGlory. “We were in a rush, and got aboard the handiest way we could.”

“You were in so big a rush that you forgot your hats,” commented the conductor suspiciously. “Where are you going?”

“Where does this train go, conductor?” put in Matt.

“Fall River.”

“Then we’ll pay our fares to Fall River,” and Matt handed the conductor a bill.

“You’re a queer pair, and no mistake,” said the railroad man, while making change.

“What’s the next stop?” continued Matt.

“Stoughton.”

“Do you stop long enough at Stoughton so we could get off and send a telegram?”

“You have the message all written out and I guess you’ll have time.”

With a puzzled look at the boys, the conductor left the car.

Matt, on the back of the colonel’s letter to McGlory, began writing out the message.

“Mark it ‘rush’” said McGlory, “and address it to the cashier of the Merchants’ & Miners’ National.”

“I’ve got that,” answered Matt.

Then, as plainly as he could, he wrote the following:

“Order for two bars bullion, given to Joe McGlory by Colonel M. A. Billings, of Tucson, Arizona, stolen. If presented, hold bullion until you hear from me.

“JOE MCGLORY.”

Matt handed the message to his chum to read.

“That’ll do the trick,” said McGlory, “providing the gold hasn’t already been delivered. I hope that car of Tibbits’ broke down somewhere, and that he was hung up for a few hours on the road to New York. That’s our only hope, Matt.”

Before Matt could answer, the conductor came along the aisle, ushering a gray-whiskered man who was carrying a carpetbag.

“Here they are,” said the conductor to his companion, halting opposite the boys. “Do you know them?”

“Well, by hokey!” ejaculated the other, staring at the motor boys as though they were a couple of ghosts.

“Know them?” repeated the conductor.

“I’ve seen ’em, conductor,” was the reply. “Bill Hawkins, our town constable, arrested them two fellers for stealin’ an automobile, an’ they was put in the lockup not more’n an hour ago. How the nation did you fellers git out?”

That was not a time to dodge responsibility. The truth, and the whole truth, must be told.

“I had an idea something was wrong with you two chaps,” frowned the conductor. “This man”--he nodded to the gray-bearded stranger--“got on at Leeville, so I thought I’d bring him forward to have a look at you. Surprising information he’s giving me. What have you got to say for yourselves?”

Sternness had crept into the conductor’s voice.

“The gentleman from Leeville is telling the truth,” replied Matt. “I and my chum _were_ arrested by the constable and put in the Leeville town jail, but we twisted a bar from the window, crawled over the roof of a shed, and caught this train.”

“Well, well!” gasped the man from Leeville.

“You’ll get off at Stoughton, all right,” said the conductor, “but it’ll be for something beside sending a telegram.”

“Wait a minute, conductor,” begged Matt. “If you and the other gentleman have time to listen, I want to tell you just what happened. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

The conductor hesitated.

“There are two sides to a story, you know,” went on Matt earnestly. “You’ve got one side, and now, in justice to us, you ought to have ours.”

There was something in Matt’s steady gray eyes that lent a powerful appeal to his words. The conductor, turning back the forward seat, motioned to the man from Leeville to sit by the window.

“Now,” said the conductor, sitting down, “I haven’t got much time. We’ll be at Stoughton in fifteen minutes. Fire away.”

A good deal of detail was necessary, if Matt wanted to make out a strong case for himself and McGlory, so he began with the receipt of the colonel’s letter by his chum, and offered the letter in evidence. It was read by both the conductor and the Leeville man.

Then, taking events in sequence, Matt went over his and McGlory’s experiences during the preceding day, while they were prisoners in the old Higbee house and while they were fighting for their freedom.

It was an exciting story, and was listened to with deepest interest, not only by the conductor and the Leeville man, but also by two or three other passengers, as well.

“By hokey,” murmured the Leeville man, when the recital was finished, “if that’s the truth, young feller, you an’ your friend ought to have a medal. I never heard anythin’ like it before.”

“You said you wanted to send a telegram from Stoughton,” observed the conductor. “Who was the telegram going to?”

“To the New York bank,” replied Matt, “in order to keep the bullion from being delivered to Tibbits and his gang.”

“Have you written out the message?”

“Here it is,” and Matt turned over the colonel’s letter and showed the message to the trainman.

The conductor read it through carefully, and then read it aloud to the man from Leeville.

“To my mind,” said the conductor, “this is evidence that these lads are telling the truth. They wrote that message before I brought you here to identify them, so they couldn’t have framed it up to get out of a tight place.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re tellin’ the truth,” returned the man from Leeville, “because their story holds together. Mr. Higbee, I happen to know, has a nephew who’s a good deal of a black sheep. His name ain’t Tibbits, but it ain’t likely he’d have given his real name while doin’ underhand work like what he was up to. Mr. Higbee, too, left this nephew at the country place to look after it while he an’ his family are abroad.”

“I’ll bank on Motor Matt and Joe McGlory!” declared the conductor, reaching over to slap each of the boys on the shoulder. “If that Leeville constable had known as much as the law allows, he’d have given the lads a chance to tell their side of the story; and for him to refuse to let them send such an important telegram was an outrage. I hope,” the conductor added to Matt, “that the message will be received in time to save the bullion. In order to make sure that it is rushed through, you’d better let me attend to the sending of it myself.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” said Matt gratefully.

“Don’t mention it, my lad,” the trainman answered. “I’m glad to be able to do something for you.”

“I’m goin’ to Fall River to visit my married daughter,” put in the Leeville man, “an’ when I git back home, I’ll let Hawkins know what I think of his fool way of doing bizness. It’ll cost him his job, next ’lection, you can lay to that.”

“I wouldn’t bear down too hard on him,” counseled Matt. “Hawkins thought he was doing his duty.”

“He’s a false alarm,” growled McGlory, “and he ought to have the pin pulled on him. Maybe I’ve lost a fortune through his foolishness--I don’t know.”

At that juncture the train began to slow down.

“Stoughton!” called the conductor, getting up and making for the rear door of the car.

Matt and McGlory watched the conductor as he crossed the station platform and disappeared inside the telegraph office. He was gone for a couple of minutes, and when he reappeared he signaled for the train to pull out.

“That’s done, my lads,” he announced, when he again came into the car. “In less than half an hour the telegram should be in the hands of the cashier.”

“I hope to gracious it’ll git there in time,” said the Leeville man. “I’d hate to have it said that ten thousand dollars was lost jest because a constable in our town hadn’t sense enough to do the right thing.”

“Something ought to be done to the rest of that rascally gang at the old Higbee house,” suggested the conductor.

“It’s too late for that,” said Matt. “As soon as Joe and I got clear away from them, the scoundrels probably proceeded to make themselves scarce.”

“I’ll bet they’re absent a whole lot,” chimed in the cowboy. “It was a good deal of scheming they did just for a measly ten thousand dollars.”

“That sum is plenty large enough to make a whole lot of men go wrong,” asserted the conductor. “But, say, I’d like to have a picture of you two boys breaking through those iron gates in that automobile! It’s a wonder you didn’t get killed.”

“I should say so!” breathed the man from Leeville. “You ought to’ve seen them gates, conductor. I’ve seen ’em, dozens o’ times. They’re big, an’ high, an’ hinged to heavy brick columns. It’s a miracle that car wasn’t smashed to kindlin’ wood, an’ the youngsters along with it.”

“I was pretty sure we’d get through,” said Matt, “or we wouldn’t have tried it.”

“He’s the lad to figure things out,” expanded McGlory proudly. “His mind works like a rapid-fire gun, an’ it ain’t often he misses the bull’s-eye, either.”

“I guess you hit it off about right,” laughed the conductor. “I’m glad you had the nerve to tell me the whole story, Motor Matt, and that you didn’t try to dodge when I confronted you with this gentleman from Leeville. What you’ve said has made me your friend, and I’ll bet the Leeville man feels the same way.”

“You bet he does,” avowed that gentleman, with emphasis.