Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest — Background and Themes

CHAPTER I. THE HUT BY THE BAYOU. CHAPTER II. YAMOUSA. CHAPTER III. THE ATTACK ON THE CAR. CHAPTER IV. SMOKE PICTURES. CHAPTER V. A QUEER FIND. CHAPTER VI. FOUL PLAY. CHAPTER VII. DRIED FROGS--AND LUCK. CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOTTERS. CHAPTER IX. THE HEAD OF OBBONEY. CHAPTER X. ON THE TRAIL. CHAPTER XI. A BLACK MYSTERY. CHAPTER XII. AT CLOSE QUARTERS. CHAPTER XIII. THREE IN A TRAP. CHAPTER XIV. AN ASTOUNDING SITUATION. CHAPTER XV. THE TREASURE. CHAPTER XVI. DIAMONDS GALORE. THE MASKED LIGHT.

CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.

=Motor Matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. Because of his daring as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as "Mile-a-minute Matt." Motor-boats, air ships and submarines come naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of adventure in following up his "hobby."

=Carl Pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking German boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of Motor Matt.

=Dick Ferral=, a young sea dog from Canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin.

=Townsend=, a wealthy though eccentric gentleman, who owns a remarkable submarine boat on which our friends have seen various adventures in the past.

=Whistler=,} =Jurgens=, } a trio of rogues bent upon gaining possession of a prize. =Bangs=, }

=Yamousa=, the hideous voodoo woman of the Louisiana swamps.

THE HUT BY THE BAYOU.

"Lisden, vonce, you fellers! I t'ink I hear someding."

Carl Pretzel turned back from the forward rail of the _Hawk_, gave his chums, Motor Matt and Dick Ferral, a warning look, and then leaned out over the side of the air ship, his eyes on the earth below.

The _Hawk_ was sweeping over the tongue of land between Lake Pontchartrain and Lake Borgne, bound for New Orleans by way of the Lower Mississippi.

Night was coming on, and the boys in the air ship had been looking anxiously for a place in which to effect a landing. Interminable stretches of cypress and live oak covered the low ground beneath them, and there did not seem to be a gap anywhere in the dense growth.

"You must have bells in your ears, mate," said Dick, in response to Carl's announcement that he had heard "something." "Dowse me if I heard any noise."

"Listen, pards, both of you," called Matt from his seat among the levers. "If you can hear a voice, down there, it will be a pretty sure sign that we're close to a clearing. We've done enough flying for to-day, and these Louisiana air currents are so changeable I don't want to do any night traveling. If you----"

"Dere it vas some more!" cried Carl excitedly. "You hear him dot time, Tick?"

"Aye, matey," answered Dick, "I heard a voice, fair enough. It was a sort of screech, as though a woman might have piped up--or a panther."

"Where away was it?" asked Matt.

"Two points off the starboard bow, Matt."

Matt shifted the rudder, thus altering the course of the _Hawk_; he also depressed the horizontal plane and threw the air ship closer to the tree tops.

"It's getting so blooming dark, down there among the trees," observed Dick, "that it's hard to see anything, but I believe I can make out a bit of a river, and an arm of it like a bayou."

"Yah, so helup me," put in Carl, "I can see dot meinseluf, I bed you. Und dere iss a light like a fire, vich geds prighter und prighter as ve go aheadt. Vat you t'ink is dot anyvay, Tick?"

Before Dick could answer, the cry that had already claimed their attention was wafted up from below, this time so clear and distinct that there was no mistaking it.

It was a screech, as Dick had said, and resembled greatly the yell of some wild animal; nevertheless, the call was plainly human, for it was broken into words.

"French lingo, or I'm a Fiji!" averred Dick. "It's the same as some one calling for help. And a woman, too. No man could make a sound like that."

As if to prove Dick's words, the cry was repeated, but the words were English, now, and not French.

"Py chiminy grickets!" gasped Carl. "Dere iss someding going on vat means drouple for der laty."

"We've got to land," declared Matt, "and see what's the matter. Can you find a place?"

Both Dick and Carl were leaning over the forward rail and staring ahead and downward.