WAITING AND WORRYING.
"In the name of all that's good, Joe," cried Matt, as he and the cowboy
shook hands, "where did you come from?"
"From the _Sprite_, pard," grinned McGlory. "But that was some sort of
a while ago. I've been on the house boat for quite a spell."
"Where did you get that satchel?"
"It's got the bundle of money in it, Matt--Uncle Dan's money _sabe_?"
"Yes, yes, I know! I saw the red-whiskered man take the money out of
the satchel, then put it back again and push the satchel under that
bench. But how did _you_ get hold of it? That's what I want to know."
McGlory dropped the satchel and collapsed on the bench.
"Oh, that's the best ever," he laughed. "Those old hardshells were
fooled at their own game. Queer about that money of Uncle Dan's. It's
been in a good deal of a taking ever since it left Madison. George
takes it from Uncle Dan, Red-whiskers takes it from George, Landers
takes it from Red-whiskers, and now here's me taking it from Landers."
"Landers?" queried Mitt. "Did he take the money?"
"Took it the length of the boat. By then I was close enough to get hold
of it myself. But you cut loose and tell me what went crossways with
you--I've been worried a heap about that--and then I'll even up by
tellin' how I jumped into the game."
Matt made short work of his end of the explanation, and McGlory
consumed but little more time. While McGlory was talking, Matt was not
only listening but also putting two and two together in his own mind.
The cowboy finished with another jubilant laugh, but Matt suddenly
became grave and got up from the bench.
"Let's go outside, Joe," said he, "where we can keep an eye on our
surroundings."
"What's there in our surroundings to worry us? We've got the money,
haven't we?"
"Yes, but the 'taking' you mentioned a few minutes ago may keep
up--unless we're on the alert. Suppose Big John, Kinky, and Ross come
back here in the _San Bruno_? What would happen then? We haven't any
_Sprite_ to take us off, remember."
"That's a fact," and McGlory went suddenly grave himself. "What ever
came over that chink to run off? Say, I'll bet he got to tinkering with
the motor, and that it started on him and he couldn't stop it. Consarn
these chinks, anyhow!"
"Don't be too quick to blame Ping, Joe," remonstrated Matt. "I don't
think that's what happened."
"What then?"
"Landers thought you were a detective, didn't he?"
"That's what he said."
"Well, he was afraid of being arrested and jailed for helping Big John
and the other two. That's the reason he played a trick and tumbled off
the boat."
"Well? Go on, pard, and give me the rest of it."
"Don't you think it's likely that he climbed aboard the _Sprite_, took
her away from Ping, and then rushed her across the cove to the nearest
landing?"
"Oh, tell me!" muttered McGlory. "And I never, no, I never once let
that drift into my head! And yet, why not? Wasn't it the natural thing
for Landers to do? Any day you can find in the almanac, pard, I'm shy
something when it comes to headwork. But here's the point: Can Landers
run the _Sprite_ fast enough to keep her away from the _San Bruno_?
If he can't, I can see what will happen to Ping and Landers when that
outfit of fire-eaters come up with them. Oh, shucks! This ain't turnin'
out so pleasant as I thought. Suppose we hike for the deck and keep our
eyes peeled. It may save us something, although I'm a heathen if I see
what we could do if the _San Bruno_ came back."
"If we have to," said Matt, "we'll take the money and swim to the
nearest house boat."
"It will be a damp roll of bills we take ashore with us if we have to
do that."
"Better a lot of wet money, Joe, than no money at all."
"Right, exactly right, as per usual. I've got this pop-gun of Cousin
George's. It looks like one of those toy Fourth of July things that
make a noise and let it go at that. Still, maybe the sight of the thing
would scare somebody."
Together they left the cabin, and, in order that their view might be
more extensive, climbed the steep stairs to the house boat's upper
deck. Here there were comfortable chairs, and the boys sat down and
allowed their eyes to wander about them over the shadowy surface of the
cove.
The lights of the house-boat settlement were still gleaming in every
direction, but every sound had died away and a dead silence reigned.
"If a launch was coming," said McGlory, "we could hear her a mile
off--which is three times as far as we could see her."
"That's right," said Matt, "and I'm hearing one now. Listen! Unless I'm
away off in my reckoning a boat is bearing this way from the direction
of Tiburon."
McGlory bent his head.
"You've made a bull's-eye, Matt," said he. "A boat's coming, but is it
the _Sprite_ or the _San Bruno_?"
"It's the _San Bruno_," averred Matt.
"How do you make that out?" queried the wondering cowboy.
"Why, a bigger volume of sound, distance considered, than the _Sprite_
makes. I noticed that particularly when we were chasing the _San Bruno_
across the bay."
"Well, you've got me beat, plumb. We've got to swim, I reckon, going
off one side of the house boat as the launch ties up at the other?"
"We'll not take to the water until we have to, Joe. Wait until we can
get a good look at the boat."
Standing on the upper deck, the two boys faced in the direction of the
approaching launch, and waited and worried.
Slowly, and after a period of time that seemed interminable, a blot of
shadow came gliding toward them from among the clustered lights of the
house boats.
Matt whirled to grip McGlory's arm.
"What's to pay now, pard?" asked the startled cowboy.
"Why," answered Matt, "two boats are coming!"
"Two?" echoed McGlory, squinting in the direction of the moving blot.
"I can't make out more than one, and it's plenty hard to see that."
"One is chasing the other--I can tell by the sounds, alone."
"Good ear--remarkable. Put a lot of bronks on a hard trail and I can
shut my eyes and tell you how many there are, up to five, by listening.
But a boat's a different proposition. How do you know one is chasing
the other, though? That's what gets me."
"Because," answered Matt, "the boat ahead is the _Sprite_ and the one
behind is the _San Bruno_!"
"Sufferin' whirligigs!" exclaimed McGlory. "How far ahead is the
_Sprite_?"
"We can tell in a minute. Both boats are close--and the _San Bruno_ has
put out her light. Ah, look!"
Matt leaned over the rail and pointed. By that time the boats could be
easily distinguished. The _Sprite_ was pounding along in a distressing
way that proved there was something wrong with her sparking apparatus
or her fuel supply, but, in spite of that, she was doing nobly.
"It can't be that Ping is doing the work on the _Sprite_," muttered
McGlory.
"It sounds as though it might be Ping," said Matt.
"But he can't run the boat! Didn't we see him try, at the Tiburon
landing?"
"He's been watching me, and I think he's learned what to pull and
push and turn in order to keep the boat moving. A Chinaman is a good
imitator, Joe. The _San Bruno_ is giving our launch a close race, and
we'd better go down and stand ready to leap aboard the moment Ping
stops for us."
Hurrying down the steps, the two boys placed themselves at the edge of
the house boat's after deck, ready to jump the moment the _Sprite_ came
close enough.