"That's a momentum," said the boy.
"I guess you mean memento," laughed Matt, tossing the bolt away.
"Mebby it's that where you come from," persisted the boy doggedly, "but it's momentum out here in Dakoty. Things is diff'rent in the Northwest to what they is in the East."
"Where does Mrs. Traquair live?" asked Matt.
"What hotel yuh stoppin' to, mister?"
"Gladstone House."
"Then you can pass Mrs. Traquair's shack right on the way back to the hotel," and the boy proceeded to give Matt minute instructions as to the way he should go in order to reach the house.
Matt flipped a silver coin to the youngster, and turned and started back toward the town. The boy pushed the coin into his pocket and went whistling in the direction of the river.
Several things were drawing Motor Matt in the direction of the Traquair home. Mainly, he distrusted Murgatroyd, and thought that perhaps Mrs. Traquair might be able to tell him something about the man. Then, too, Matt was anxious to learn what he could about the Traquair aëroplane, and felt sure there were papers containing drawings or descriptions at the house which would give a tolerably clear idea of the machine.
The Traquair home was in a squalid neighborhood. Most of the houses were tumbledown structures with windows ornamented with old garments wherever a pane of glass happened to be missing. But, despite its unpainted walls and sagging roof, the Traquair house had about it an air of neatness that distinguished it from its neighbors. There was no rubbish in the front yard, and two pieces of broken sewer pipe, set on end near the gate, had been filled with earth and were blooming with flowers.