A CHASE ACROSS THE BAY.
The suddenness with which the red-whiskered man's accomplices had
interfered with Motor Matt's plan, and caused it to fail, was as
startling as it was unexpected. Matt, standing back toward the edge of
the dock with a thumping pain in his shoulder, felt a spasm of chagrin
and disappointment.
McGlory picked himself up, assisted the policeman to his feet, and both
came toward Matt. The policeman was rubbing his head, and seemed dazed.
"Sufferin' snakes!" exclaimed McGlory. "I'm trying to figure out what
happened. Who were the other two that blew in on us, pard, just as we
had everything our own way?"
"They must have been Kinky and Ross," replied Matt.
"Who are they?" demanded the officer.
"Two pals of this red-whiskered man. He probably had them waiting in
the background, just as we had you waiting to help us, officer."
"This ain't the last of this!" cried the officer hotly. "Which way did
they go?"
Matt indicated the direction. The officer started off at a run, tugging
at his pocket.
"Why don't you come along?" he demanded over his shoulder.
"One of them said something about getting away in a launch," returned
Matt. "I didn't know but it was a boat that I have here, and I think
it's well to stand around and see if they come back."
"I'll see where the scoundrels go, anyhow," said the officer, and
vanished at a rapid pace.
"Are you hurt, Joe?" inquired Matt.
"My feelin's are badly injured," answered the cowboy. "The rap I got
on the block don't count for much, although it was enough to drop me,
right where I stood. They're a fine lot, those galoots. I reckon, it's
a cinch that they're the chaps we want--and the ones we won't get.
George will weep some more when he hears about it."
"Listen!" said Matt.
The exhaust of an engine struck on his ears, faintly but distinctly. It
came from somewhere to the south of the place where he and McGlory were
standing.
"What is it, pard?" queried the cowboy.
"A boat! Didn't you hear Red-whiskers speak about a launch?"
"Yes, but I reckoned it was the _Sprite_ he meant, and that he changed
his mind when he saw you hustling to get between him and the boat."
"It wasn't the _Sprite_, but another launch, and---- Ah, see that!"
Matt pointed into the darkness to the southward. A light could be seen
moving around the end of a slip, gliding across the dark water like a
star.
"There they go!" cried McGlory excitedly.
"This way, Joe," called Matt, whirling and running toward the _Sprite_.
"Hurry!"
The Chinese boy was still dozing by the post, the noise caused by the
recent scrimmage not having been sufficiently loud to disturb him.
He was on his feet, however, the instant Matt dropped a hand on his
shoulder.
"You Motor Matt?" palpitated Ping. "You wantee----"
"Cast off the rope, Ping," cut in Matt, sliding from the edge of the
dock into the boat. "Quick! Get in behind, Joe," he added to McGlory.
"We haven't an instant to lose."
"Well, hardly," answered the cowboy, scrambling aboard while Matt
started the engine. "Time's plenty scarce for us if we're to overhaul
that other boat."
The painter fell into the boat and Ping fell along with it.
"I didn't intend to take you, Ping," said Matt, switching the power
into the propeller and turning the nose of the _Sprite_ toward the open
bay.
"By Klismus," said Ping, with unexpected firmness, "my workee fo' you!
Where you makee go, my makee go, allee same. Me plenty fine China boy."
"Got any sand, Ping?" asked McGlory.
"Have got. Fightee allee same like Sam Hill. Whoosh! Plenty big high
China boy, allee same Boxer. You watchee, Motol Matt watchee. My workee
heap fine fo' Motol Matt. Workee, fightee--him allee same."
While this brief cross-fire was going on between McGlory and Ping, Matt
was driving the _Sprite_ down the slip for all she was worth. The water
slithered up along her sharp bow and flung itself in spray over the
crouching forms of the cowboy and the Chinese. The launch, because of
the weight aft, was very much down by the stern; but this, by throwing
the bow high, helped the boat to slip over the water.
After dropping from the dock into the launch Matt had not seen the
moving light until, when he was halfway out of the slip, the little
gleam danced across the open space between the outer ends of the two
piers.
"Great spark plugs!" muttered Matt, "that's the other boat."
"She's going north!" exclaimed McGlory.
"Which makes it easy for us to pick up her trail and follow. If she had
gone south, she might have got away from us."
"She's rippin' along like an express train," murmured the cowboy,
watching the light vanish around the end of the pier.
"She's not speedy enough to leave the _Sprite_ behind," exulted Matt,
his nerves quivering in unison with the little tremors the humming
cylinders sent through the boat.
"If those tinhorns see us, pard----"
"They won't. We're not carrying any lights, and I'm surprised to see
them with one."
"Mebby they can hear us if they can't see us."
"We'll have to drop behind far enough so they won't hear us. Their own
boat makes twice as much noise as the _Sprite_, and that will drown the
throb of our exhaust and the whir of the cylinders."
Just then the _Sprite_ dashed out of the black maw of the slip,
wheeled in a foamy arc and turned her nose northward. There were many
lights in the bay--red and green side lamps and white masthead lights,
and others, but Matt was not confused. The white gleam straight to
northward was the one he knew he should follow.
A lightish streak surged in the wake of the other launch. Matt could
not make out much about the craft except that she was considerably
larger than the _Sprite_ and had a canvas or wooden canopy over the
cockpit.
But the _Sprite_ was the faster boat. Matt, studying the distance
that separated the _Sprite_ from the launch ahead, found it necessary
to choke down the motor in order to keep from overhauling the three
thieves.
"I thought you wanted to catch them," complained McGlory, conscious of
the lessening speed.
"What good would it do for us to overhaul them out in the bay?"
queried Matt, humping over the wheel and speaking without turning his
head. "There are three of the scoundrels, and they're armed and would
probably be only too glad to have us tackle them. If Red-whiskers could
lay me by the heels, you know, he'd get his trunk check."
"Correct, pard. It wouldn't do to run alongside of them in the bay. But
what're you thinking of?"
"We're just shadowing them to find out where they go. When we discover
that, we'll hold a council and decide what's to be done next."
"Waugh!" sputtered McGlory. "Queerest ever that I can't ride on the
water without getting a gone feeling in the pit of my stomach."
"Have you got it now, Joe?"
"Awful. If I had any supper aboard, I reckon I'd unload. And I can
go through all kinds of rough weather on a buckin' bronk! No matter
how much a bronk pitches, or bucks, it never makes me squeamish--but
boats! Well, the minute I get into one I begin to have cramps. Funny,
ain't it? They got a fake boat in a picture gallery in Tucson, and if a
galoot wants a tin type of himself, at sea, he gets into the fake boat
and lets the camera snap. Honest to Mack, every time I go to that place
for a tin type I get seasick."
Matt laughed.
"And yet you like boats!" he exclaimed.
"Achin' for 'em all the time. It's human nature to be contrary with
yourself, I---- Sufferin' centipedes! I'm an Injun if that other boat
isn't making for Tiburon."
"I don't think so, Joe," said Matt. "There's a place around the point
that's called Belvedere Cove. The other boat is either going to put in
there or else go farther up the bay. We can tell in a minute."
A little later Matt announced that the other launch had doubled the
point and put into the Cove. For a brief space the point of land hid
the larger launch from the eyes of those in the _Sprite_; but, as the
_Sprite_ pushed around the point, a multitude of lights burst suddenly
on the gaze of her passengers--stationary lights they were, with the
exception of one that was gliding among them like a shooting star.
"Tell me about that!" muttered McGlory, standing up for a better look.
"The surface of the cove looks like a town. Where are all those lamps?"
"On houseboats, Joe," replied Matt. "The tide-water inlets, in and
about San Francisco Bay, are full of house boats at this season of the
year. That's the other launch--that moving light, over there."
McGlory continued to stand up, bracing himself with a hold on Ping's
pigtail, which happened to be the most convenient thing handy.
The _Sprite_, keeping to the trail of the moving white gleam, darted
in and out among the house boats. From many of the anchored boats came
sounds of mirth, music, and gay talk. Some one, on an ungainly craft
which the _Sprite_ passed within a short fathom, shouted a warning for
Matt to put out a light. This warning, of course, could not be heeded,
and the little launch foamed onward out of earshot.
Suddenly Matt shut off the power and brought the boat to a halt.
"The other launch has tied up alongside a house boat, Joe," he
announced, "and we're at the end of our trail. What shall we do? Go to
Tiburon after a policeman or two or go on with the work ourselves?"