"An hour or two!" exclaimed Matt. "I shall have to get some farmer to haul it to the blacksmith shop, in Sykestown."
A guileful grin swept like an ill-omened shadow across Murgatroyd's face. Without another word he went to the automobile, climbed to the driver's seat, leaned the rifle against the seat beside him, and started the car. He did not continue on toward Sykestown, but made a turn and went back over the course he had recently covered.
"The scoundrel!" cried Matt. "He knew I was here to do what I could for Mrs. Traquair—that question I asked him about the homestead would have proven that, even if he had not guessed it from the mere fact of my being in this section. He injured the aëroplane to keep me from carrying out any plan I might have for the rescue of Mrs. Traquair. He knows it will take me some time to get the aëroplane fixed, and while I'm doing that he'll be moving Mrs. Traquair from the homestead to some other place. That's why he was so anxious to find out how badly the machine was damaged. If it hadn't been seriously broken, no doubt he'd have put another bullet into it. He'll pay for this if I've anything to say about it."
For a few moments Matt sat down on the prairie and looked ruefully at the helpless aëroplane.
This reverse meant much to Motor Matt. Quite likely it would prevent the sale of the machine to the government, for it was now practically certain the aëroplane could not be repaired and turned over to the government for shipment east by the first of the month. This would have been impossible, even if Matt had had leisure to repair the damage—which he did not have on account of the necessity he was under of helping Mrs. Traquair.
How far back on the road the last house was situated Matt could not remember. He would have to go there, however, and hire the farmer to transport the aëroplane to Sykestown. The quicker this was done, and the sooner the damage was repaired, then the more speedily he could use the machine in helping Mrs. Traquair.
If repairs were going to consume too much time, then he could join Cameron, McGlory, and Ping and go to the Traquair homestead in the lieutenant's borrowed motor car.
Greatly cast down by his reverse, yet firmly determined to carry out his original purpose at any cost, Matt set his face back along the road.
He was guessing good and hard about the young woman who was in the automobile with Murgatroyd. She was the broker's niece, but she was not in favor of any of his villainous designs—that fact was beyond dispute. If the girl felt in this way, why had Murgatroyd had her along while pursuing his dark schemes against Mrs. Traquair?
It was an enigma that baffled Matt. He gave up trying to guess it, and began reproaching himself for becoming so easily entangled with the motor car and its scoundrelly owner. He should have made sure that the man was not an enemy before bringing the aëroplane so close.