THE GLASS BALLS.
Turning the trick for Tsan Ti--as McGlory had termed it--was destined
to entangle the motor boys in a whirl of the most astounding events;
and these events, as novel as they were mysterious, followed each other
like the reports of a Gatling gun.
The journey to Albany, and down the river to Catskill Landing, and
thence by motor cycle part way up the mountain, had been monotonous;
but from the moment the mandarin and the bicycle went sprawling into
the air over the tree root, and the lads had made the Chinaman's
acquaintance, Fate began whirling the wheel of amazing events.
Matt and McGlory had had no time to discuss the weird tale recounted
for their benefit by the mandarin. There was no opportunity to view
the theft of the Eye of Buddha from any angle save that offered by the
philosophical Tsan Ti. No sooner had the ostensible facts connected
with the stolen ruby been retailed, than one of the thieves flashed
down the mountain road, leaving the boys no choice but to fling away
after him.
The two motor cycles had absolutely no chance to go wrong on that
downhill trail. Had either motor "bucked," the weight of the heavy
machine would have hurled its rider onward in a breakneck coast toward
the foot of the hill.
"Sufferin' streaks!" cried the cowboy. "If we were to meet anybody
coming up, there'd be nothing left but the pieces!"
"I'm keeping a lookout ahead, Joe!" Matt called back, over his shoulder.
He was in the lead, and his rear wheel was firing a stream of dust and
sand into McGlory's eyes. But the cowboy was too excited to pay much
attention to that.
"We're goin' off half-cocked, seems to me!" he yelled. "We've known
that fat chink for about ten minutes, and here we are, lamming into his
game like a couple of wolves. What's the use of brains, pard, if you
don't use 'em?"
"While we were thinking matters over," Matt answered, ripping around a
sharp turn, "the one-eyed man would be getting away."
"What're we going to do when we overhaul him? Make an offhand demand
for the Eye of Buddha? It sounds flat enough, and if the webfoot tells
us we're crazy, and gives us the laugh, what're we going to do?"
"Brakes! brakes!" cried Matt, and his motor cycle began to stagger and
buck-jump as he angled for a halt.
McGlory was startled by the command, but instantly he obeyed it. In
order to avoid running his chum down, he not only bore down with the
brakes but also swerved toward the roadside. He came to a sudden stop
in a thicket of bushes, and extricated himself with some difficulty.
Matt was in the road, his motor cycle leaning against a tree. A yard in
front of him lay a flat cap. He pointed to it.
"What's that to do with a breakneck stop like we just made?" snorted
the cowboy. "It's not the headgear we want, pard, but the man that owns
it."
"Sure," returned Matt. "Look farther down the road, Joe, and then
you'll understand."
A straight drop in the road stretched ahead of the boys for a quarter
of a mile. Halfway along the stretch was the automobile. The machine
was at a stop, and the driver and the one-eyed man were leaning over
the motor. The hood had been opened, and the driver was tinkering.
"Something has gone wrong," said Matt, "and it happened soon after the
sailor had lost his cap. Our one-eyed friend, I think, will come back
after his property. If he does, we'll talk with him. We can't go too
far in this business, you know. I have considerable confidence in Tsan
Ti, but still we're not absolutely sure of our ground."
"The poor old duck is bound to snuff himself out with the yellow cord
if he don't recover the ruby," returned the cowboy. "That's what hits
me close to home. We're going it blind"--and here McGlory dug some of
the sand out of his eyes--"and we jumped into this with a touch-and-go
that don't seem reasonable; still, I've got a sneaking notion we're on
the right track. What's that on the hat ribbon?"
Matt had picked up the hat, and was turning it over in his hand.
"It's the name of a boat, I suppose," answered Matt, taking a look at
the gilt letters. "'_Hottentot_,'" he added, reading the name.
"Oh, tell me!" exclaimed McGlory. "_Hottentot!_ That's a warm label for
a boat. But, say! Suppose One-Eye don't think enough of his cap to come
back for it?"
"But he will," answered Matt. "This will bring him, I'll bet something
handsome."
As he spoke. Matt pulled a square of folded paper out of the crown of
the cap.
"Cowboy trick!" grinned McGlory. "Carryin' letters under the sweatband
of a Stetson reminds me of home."
Matt had stepped to the roadside, the folded paper to one hand and the
cap in the other.
"Had we better?" he pondered, voicing his thoughts.
"Better what?" queried McGlory.
"Why, keep this paper. It may prove important."
"Sure, keep it! What're you side-stepping for about a little thing like
that? We're after the Eye of Buddha, and if that paper has anything to
do with it, the thing's ours by rights."
"But suppose Tsan Ti is working some game of his own? That was a
fearsome yarn he gave us, Joe."
"Sufferin' tenderfeet! Say, didn't we come all the way from Michigan
to help him? Think of that yellow cord, and what it means to---- Oh,
Moses!" the cowboy broke off. "Here comes the webfoot, now."
Matt, taking a chance that the sailor was a thief, that he had guilty
knowledge of the whereabouts of the Eye of Buddha, and that the paper
might furnish valuable information, thrust the note into his pocket,
and hastily replaced it with a bit of paper quickly drawn from his
coat. Then, tossing the hat into the road, he stepped out and waited.
The sailor was scrambling up the steep ascent with the agility of an A.
B. making for the maintop. At sight of Matt, appearing suddenly above
him, he hesitated, only to come on again at redoubled speed.
"Ahoy, shipmates!" bellowed the old salt, as soon as he had come close
enough for a hail. "Seen anythin' of a bit of headgear hereabouts?"
"There it is," Matt answered, pointing.
"Blow me tight if there it ain't!" He jumped for the hat, and gathered
it in with a sweep of one hand. "Obliged to ye," he added, looking
into the crown, and then placing the hat on his head with visible
satisfaction.
He would have turned and made off down the road, had not Matt stepped
toward him and lifted his hand.
"Just a minute, my friend," said Matt.
The sailor flashed a look toward the automobile. The driver had closed
the hood, and was waving his arms.
"Nary a minute have I got to spare, shipmate," the sailor answered.
"The skipper of that craft has plugged the hole in her bow, and we're
ready to trip anchor and bear away."
"Wait!" and a sternness crept into Matt's voice. "We must have a talk
with you. Perhaps you'll save yourself trouble if you give us a few
minutes of your time."
At the word "trouble," the sailor squared around.
"Now, shiver me," he cried, "I'm just beginning to take the cut of your
jib. Trouble, says you. Are ye sailin' in company with that chink we
passed a ways back on our course?"
"What do you know about the Eye of Buddha?" demanded Matt.
"Oh, ho," roared the other, "so that's yer lay, my hearty? Well, you
take my advice, and keep your finger out o' that pie. I'm not sayin' a
word about the Eye o' Buddha. Mayhap I know somethin' consarnin' the
same, an' mayhap I don't. But I wouldn't give the fag end o' nothin'
mixed in a kittle o' hot water for your chances if you stick an oar in
that little matter."
There was that about the sailor which convinced Matt that he knew more
concerning the ruby than he cared to tell.
"Stop!" cried the king of the motor boys.
"Not me," was the gruff answer, and both of the sailor's hands dropped
into his pockets.
"If he won't stop," cried McGlory, "then here's where we make him!"
He and Matt started on a run toward the sailor. The latter whirled
around, his arms drew back, and his hands shot forward. Two round,
glimmering objects left his palms and tinkled into fragments at
the feet of the two boys. An overpowering odor arose in the still
air--wafted upward in a cloud of strangling fumes that caught at the
throats of Matt and McGlory, blinded their eyes, and sapped at their
strength.
McGlory fell to his knees.
"The--glass--balls----" he gasped, and flattened out helplessly, the
last word fading into a gurgle.
"Leave the Eye o' Buddha alone!" were the hoarse words that echoed in
Matt's ears.
And they were the last sounds of which he was cognizant for some time.
He crumpled down at the side of his chum, made one last desperate
struggle to recover his strength, and then the darkness closed him in.