Carl saw him land in the front of the white runabout in a heap. He was thrown violently against the seat, and then went sprawling against the dash. The runabout slewed dangerously, and something like a squeal came from somewhere.
"Ach, chincher," panted Carl; "he vas some goners! I don'd nefer expect to see Motor Matt alife any more! Donnervetter! Vy he do dot?"
Quickly as he could, Carl dropped into the road.
"Matt!" he called, whirling about and looking in the direction the white car had been going.
Then he staggered back against the rocks.
The auto had disappeared and taken Motor Matt along with it!
Carl's nerves were in rags. He didn't know what to do. Possessed with the notion that Matt had faded into nothing along with the spook car, he turned and began running the other way.
He stopped suddenly, however. Matt was his pard, and to run away from him like that was something Carl knew he ought not to do. But was he running away from Matt? If Matt had been snuffed into nothing with the car, how could he be running away from him?
This was all foolish, of course, but Carl was so upset he wasn't himself.
He stopped his running, however, and came stealthily back, staring on all sides of him with eyes like saucers.