CHUMS TO THE RESCUE.
Matt was several moments realizing the terrible predicament in which
Ross had placed him. The glowing fire in the stern of the _Sprite_
lighted the darkness with a ghastly glare.
The boat was on fire and speeding, with a lashed wheel, across the
troubled waters of the lake.
What could Matt do to save himself? It was a time when he must think
quickly. He would also have to act with promptness and decision--an
impossibility in his helpless state.
If he could roll back over the hood, he might contrive to get aft and,
in some manner, smother the fire.
He made the attempt--and succeeded, although not until he had come
within an inch of sliding off the rounded hood and into the lake.
As he fell into the bottom of the boat, he struck the lever that
controlled the sparking apparatus, throwing off the switch and causing
the _Sprite_ to slow to a halt.
This was a little gained, for the speed of the boat would not now fan
the flames; but Matt was wedged in between the driver's seat and the
motor, and found it impossible to extricate himself.
His heart sank.
Was this to be the end? Was the _Sprite_ to burn and sink, there in the
open lake, and carry him to the bottom?
At this moment, just as his hopes were at the lowest ebb, he heard a
shout from near at hand.
"Matt! Where are you, pard?"
McGlory! That was McGlory's voice!
The wonder of McGlory's being there to help him was lost, for the
moment, in the wild joy that swelled in Matt's breast.
"Here!" he shouted.
A whoop of delight came from McGlory.
"We've found him, George!" Matt heard him exclaim.
Then there came a splash of oars and a jolt as another boat bumped
against the _Sprite_.
"Hold her steady, pard," McGlory went on, "and I'll get Matt out of
this in a brace of shakes."
The next moment the cowboy scrambled into the launch.
"Where are you, Matt?" called McGlory.
"Never mind me," Matt answered; "put out the fire. Beat it out--use
your coat."
The fire looked worse than it was in reality. Not much of the woodwork
was afire, but the blazing waste had been scattered by the wind and was
sending up smoke and flame from the stern almost to the driver's seat.
McGlory was thinking more about Matt than he was about the boat.
However, he had his orders and did not stop to do any arguing. Jerking
off his coat, he got to work at once.
Lorry helped. Fastening the skiff which had brought him and McGlory off
from the shore, he likewise removed his coat, and the little _Sprite_
rocked and pitched with the mad efforts of the two boys to get the best
of the blaze.
Inside of five minutes they had the last flame smothered. While George
dipped up water with his cap and deluged the smoking woodwork, McGlory
pulled Matt out of his cramped quarters.
"Well, speak to me about this!" gasped McGlory. "He's tied! Say, this
would make the hair stand on a buffalo robe. Lashed hand and foot and
turned adrift out in the middle of the lake! Sufferin' volcanoes! Who
did it, pard?"
"Get the ropes off me," said Matt, "and then I can talk to better
advantage. My arms are numb clear to the shoulder."
McGlory pulled a knife from his pocket and groped carefully while he
cut the cords.
"It seems like a dream," muttered Matt.
"Nightmare, you mean," returned McGlory. "If I'd been in such a fix I'd
'a' thrown a fit."
"And then to have you fellows come!" went on Matt. "I don't know how
you managed it, but here you are, and here I am, and I guess the old
_Sprite_ is good for several trips yet. Shake!"
McGlory caught Matt's outstretched hand and gave it a hearty pressure.
As soon as the cowboy was through, Matt leaned over and gave Lorry's
hand a cordial grip.
"I'll never forget what you have done for me," declared Matt.
"Shucks!" muttered McGlory. "That's what pards are for--to help one
another when they're in a tight pinch. And I'm an Injun if this
_wasn't_ a tight one. But see here, once, Matt. You called this boat
the _Sprite_."
"That's her name, Joe."
"Queer they'd have another motor boat, same size and rig of that
'Frisco launch and with the same name, here at Madison."
"It's the same _Sprite_."
"Not the same boat you fellows used in Frisco Bay!" exclaimed Lorry.
"The same identical boat," returned Matt.
"Wouldn't that rattle your spurs?" breathed McGlory. "But how did she
get here?"
"By express."
"Who sent her?"
"Ping."
"Ping! And did the yaller mug come with her?"
"If he did I haven't seen him."
"Why," went on Lorry, "the boat came through nearly as quick as we did!"
"How did Ping know where to send her?" asked McGlory.
"He could have found that out easy enough. They knew at police
headquarters that we were coming to Madison."
"And she came by express!"
"Yes, with charges of over two hundred and fifty dollars for
transportation."
"Tell me about that!" McGlory nearly fell off his seat. "But that's
just like a heathen Chinee. Probably he thought the charges wouldn't
be more'n a dollar and a half. And they were over two-fifty! Sufferin'
millionaires!"
"It's all well enough to talk," put in Lorry, "but there are lots more
comfortable places than a motor boat, with a dead engine, in the middle
of the lake."
"That's right, too," agreed McGlory. "Every once in a while little
George, the child wonder, gets a bean on the right number. It will be
blowing great guns on this stretch of water before morning. I move we
hike."
"Where'll we hike?"
"Did you fix things up in Madison?" George inquired.
"Not the way I wanted to, George," said Matt. "We'll have to talk about
that."
"Then we won't go to Madison," declared George, "and that's settled.
We might as well haul off into the Catfish and spend the night in the
boat."
"There used to be a 'tarp' for coverin' her in rough weather," put
in McGlory. "Was Ping thoughtful enough to send all the stuff that
belonged to her?"
"He was," said Matt, "at thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents a hundred
pounds--three times the merchandise rate."
"Oh, glory! What did you take the boat off the express company's hands
for, pard?"
"For the reason, Joe, that I had use for her."
"And this is the kind of use you've been putting her to!" muttered the
cowboy. "It wasn't worth the price, not by a whole row of 'dobies."
The waves were rolling higher and higher, and the _Sprite_ was pitching
like an unruly broncho.
"We'll have to get out of this," said Lorry, as the skiff alongside
smashed against the _Sprite's_ bulwarks and gave them all a rough
shaking. "The wind's carrying us toward Maple Bluff, and I don't want
any experience with the bluff on a night like this. Where's a lantern?
Is there one aboard?"
"There was," answered Matt, "but Ross threw it into the lake."
"Ross!" gulped McGlory. "You don't mean to say you've seen him?"
"We'll go over all that later," said Matt. "We'll make for the Catfish
as fast as we can."
"That's as good a place as any, I reckon, seeing as how George isn't
ready to go to Madison."
Matt opened the hood and sniffed at the engine to ascertain if there
was any waste gasoline dripping from the tanks. He decided that the
tanks were all closed.
The engine was started and Matt brought the boat's nose around into the
wind. The trailing skiff was allowed to fall behind to the end of its
mooring chain.
There was thunder, off in the west, and an occasional sharp flash of
lightning. The flashes served to guide Matt over the course he had
recently covered, while a prisoner in the hands of Ross and Kinky.
As he held the _Sprite_ steadily to her course, more and more the
wonder grew upon him as to the timely arrival of McGlory and George.
Although Matt, when bound and cast adrift, had left a fiery trail over
the lake, yet he was positive that the grewsome beacon alone had not
been responsible for the providential appearance of his two friends.
But everything would soon be made clear, and Matt hurried the moment of
explanation by driving the launch at her best speed.
The wind, of course, delayed the boat appreciably, but her sharp bows
cut the water like a knife, and the white spray went swirling upward on
both sides of the craft, high into the night.
It was an exhilarating ride, and thoroughly enjoyed by Matt and George.
McGlory loved boats, but he had been built for a landsman, and the roll
and tumble of rough water gave him unpleasant feelings in the region of
the stomach.
The cowboy drew a long breath of relief when the launch battled her way
into the quieter waters of the Catfish, and he sprang eagerly ashore to
make the boat fast to a tree, under the lee of a steep bank.
"There's a boathouse near here," said George, when the skiff had also
been secured, "and the proper move for us is to make for it and break
in. The rain will be coming down in sheets before long. The boathouse
belongs to a friend of mine, and he won't make much of a fuss when he
knows who it was broke into the place."
Before Matt left the launch he spread the tarpaulin over it carefully
and made the edges secure to the metal pins along the gunwale; then,
led by Lorry, the boys made their way to the boathouse.
Forcing an entrance was not difficult, and just as the lads got inside
the rain began.