“Go get the rope, Billy,” said Matt sharply, “and hustle back with it.” There was that in the voice of Matt King which proved that he had made up his mind, and that there was no shaking his determination. With an ominous movement of the head, Billy started for Krug’s Corner. “Pard,” remarked McGlory earnestly, “I reckon the runabout is heap bad medicine. Do you think you ought to mix up with it?” “Are you going back on me, Joe?” asked Matt. “Not so you can notice. I’d get on a streak of greased lightning with you, if you said the word, and help you ride it to the end of the One-way Trail, but I think this is too big an order for us. Sufferin’ thunderbolts! Why, pard, that car won’t mind the helm or do the thing it ought to do even when you pull the right thing. When it began to crawfish around the road, the reverse wasn’t on.” “I don’t know about that. It’s on now,” and he looked down at the runabout. “I guess the man must have thrown on the reverse instinctively when the tire blew up. Think of rinsing the chalk from the outer tube with gasoline!” Matt laughed. “There was good cause for the tire going wrong, and there may be other good and sufficient causes for the machine’s sizzling around like it did. Anyhow, we’ll try it, and see how it will behave for us.” “But how can we lay a course for the Malvern Country Club? Billy will have to show us.” “Billy can tell us how to go, and we’ll get to the Country Club all right. Hello! What’s this?” Matt began slipping and sliding down the slope at the side of the runabout. Just at the point where the driver of the car had taken his header, the young motorist picked up a long manila envelope, unsealed. “I reckon that dropped out of the man’s clothes while he was upside down,” ventured McGlory. “That’s a cinch,” said Matt. “There’s no address on the envelope, and no printed card in the corner, but it may be we can find the man’s name and address on the papers inside. If he won’t come for his car, we’ll take it to him.” “I’m a Piute,” mumbled McGlory, “if I feel right about this runabout business.” “Billy’s talk about hoodoo cars has got you on the run,” grinned Matt. “You’ll feel different when we’re slamming along the pike with the runabout under perfect control. It’s my opinion that man doesn’t know a whole lot about running a car.” While Matt was moving here and there about the steep bank, making a few investigations of the “hoodoo” machine, Billy came racing back. “There’s your rope, Matt,” said he, tossing a coiled cable into the road. Matt crept warily up the bank to the front of the runabout. “Did you see the man, Billy?” he asked. “Sure I did. Let him ride with me for half a mile.” “You told him what we were going to do?”