It is always easy to look back over our conduct and discover the mistakes. In the present case, Matt was blaming himself when there was really no cause for it. If anything was at fault it was fate, which had brought the disastrous encounter to pass.
Every step Matt took reminded him of his bruises. His head throbbed and every bone in his body seemed to ache. He continued to stride rapidly onward, however, keeping his eyes constantly ahead in the hope of discovering a farmhouse.
Suddenly he saw a fog of dust rising from the trail in the distance. The cloud was moving toward him and he had a quick thought that it might be the automobile. The next moment the dust was whipped aside by the rising wind, and he was sure of it.
The car was coming, but there was only one man in the driver's seat. The girl had vanished from the tonneau.
"Murgatroyd took her to some farmhouse," ran Matt's startled thought, "and he is coming back to try some more villainous work." The young motorist's fists clinched instinctively, and a fierce gleam darted into his gray eyes. "We'll see about that," he muttered, between his teeth.
The automobile came on swiftly, and Murgatroyd brought it to a standstill close beside Matt.
"Get in here," the broker ordered, nodding his head toward the tonneau.
"I've got other business on hand," answered Matt. "If you're going on to finish wrecking the aëroplane——"
"Don't be a fool!" snarled the broker, standing up and lifting his rifle. "I've invited you to get into the car, but I can order, if you force me to do that, and back up the order with this gun."
"You've used that gun once to-day, Murgatroyd," said Matt, giving the broker a defiant look, "and I guess you'll find that's enough."