A SMASH.
The Hotel Kaaterskill was within a stone's throw of the Mountain House.
So far as situation went, there was small choice between them, but Matt
resented Tsan Ti's deception in declaring he was staying at one when he
was really staying at the other. It seemed so trivial a matter compared
with the mandarin's critical situation--as set forth by himself.
"I don't like the way you are acting, Tsan Ti," said Matt, as soon
as they had reached the trees. "In your letter to me you asked me to
meet you at the Mountain House; and on the mountainside, after you
received the yellow cord, you spoke about our going up to the Mountain
House; and again, as I remember it, it was on the porch of the Mountain
House where you were drinking tea when you saw Kien Lung coming toward
you, and bolted away on the bicycle. What excuse was there for such a
deception? And how can we help you if you are not open and aboveboard
with us?"
"The left hand, honored and exalted sir," returned Tsan Ti, "must not
know what the right hand does when one is so unfortunate as I. Sam
Wing, in leaving word for me at the house named Kaaterskill, remarked
upon the courier Kien Lung being after me upon his unhappy errand,
and counseled that I keep myself obscurely. But I should have made
communication with you at the Mountain House had you arrived by that
place for meeting me. My intentions were high-minded, albeit secretive."
"Then, for now," pursued Matt, "we will let that pass. Why did you
vanish from the mountainside after we had been left to chase the
one-eyed sailor? He threw two of those glass balls at us, and we were
dropped in the road, unconscious. It was not a long distance from where
we had left you, and you could easily have come down to us."
"_Omito fuh!_" muttered Tsan Ti. "My regret is most consuming! The
gods crossed my will, notable one; nothing else could have kept me at
a distance from you. It was thus. Young men on bicycles, pursuing Kien
Lung and me who had made away at high speed on two of their go-devil
machines, swarmed suddenly around me like the sacred rocks in the
banyans at Honam. In spite of my entreaties, they carried me to the
Kaaterskill, and there I made repayment for the broken machine, and for
the one which Kien Lung took for himself and did not return. These
affairs occupied me profoundly until half an hour since; then I hired
yonder devil wagon and started to find you. Behold, you were on the
veranda of the hotel as I fared past. Confucius said, in ancient times,
'When I have presented one corner of a subject, and the pupil cannot of
himself make out the other three, I do not repeat my lesson.' So the
sight of you informed me the sailor of the single eye had escaped, and
I concluded best that we hurry after him. Am I not right, honorable
friend?"
"He's good with his bazoo," remarked McGlory. "I reckon he makes out a
clean case for himself."
Matt was satisfied. Still, he thought that instead of attending to his
personal appearance and running around hiring an automobile, Tsan Ti
might have taken some quicker method of finding out what had happened
down the mountainside. But he was a Chinaman, and his ways and means
were not those of a Caucasian.
"Where did you learn to drive an automobile, Tsan Ti?" asked Matt.
"We have the devil wagons in Canton. There are many in the foreign
quarter, and I have one of my own." Tsan Ti fanned himself and looked
troubled. "There is something," he went on presently, "of which I must
inform you. Perhaps, when you know, you will leave me to find the Eye
of Buddha unaided. But it is right that I should tell you."
"What is it?" inquired Matt.
"This, courageous youth: The ten thousand demons of misfortune have
been let loose upon those most closely concerned with the loss of the
ruby. While the great Buddha sits eyeless in the temple at Honam, his
wrath falls upon me in particular; and, now that you are helping me, it
will likewise fall upon you. Disasters have crowded upon me, and if you
keep on in the search, they will surely overtake you. Already you have
had experience of them."
"Sufferin' snakes!" grunted McGlory. "It'll take more'n a heathen idol
over in China to get me on the run."
"I guess we'll face the music," laughed Matt. "That ruby eye may be a
hoodoo, but we're not superstitious enough to get scared."
"Excellent!" wheezed Tsan Ti. "I have done well to secure your
invaluable services. Shall we now proceed down the mountain in pursuit
of the sailor?"
"Why, he may be a hundred miles from here by this time."
"Not so!" was the positive answer. "I have my warning that he is near,
and that we must hasten."
"Warning?" repeated Matt.
Tsan Ti poked two fingers down the neck of his blouse and fished up a
small black V-shaped object attached to a gold chain.
"Observe," he said solemnly, "my jade-stone amulet, covered with choice
ideographs from the Book of Auguries. When it burns the skin upon the
speaking of a name, then have I a warning. Look!" He held the stone
on his fat palm. "With it thus I breathe the words 'one-eyed thief'
and"--he winced as though from pain--"the amulet nearly burns."
McGlory dropped his head, and his shoulders shook with suppressed
mirth. Never had he met so humorous a person as this mandarin of the
red button, with his yellow cord, his jade-stone amulet, and his load
of trouble.
Matt was also possessed of a desire to laugh, but managed to keep his
features straight. Tsan Ti observed the incredulity of the boys, and
dropped the amulet back down his blouse.
"Let us go, doubting ones," he puffed, "and you will see. Come,
accompany me, and you will not be long in learning why the amulet
burns!"
"Our motor cycles are here, at the garage," demurred Matt, "and----"
"They will be safely kept until you come for them again. Let us, as you
say, hustle."
He was up and waddling toward the automobile before Matt or McGlory
could answer. The boys followed him, Matt climbing into the front seat
at the mandarin's side, and the cowboy getting into the seat behind.
"Hadn't I better drive?" queried Matt.
"It is a pleasure for me to guide and control the pounding demon," the
Chinaman answered. "Ha, we start."
But they did not start. Naturally, the long halt had not left enough
gas in the cylinders to take the spark, and Tsan Ti had neglected to
use the crank.
Matt got down and turned the engine over--and came within one of being
run down before he could get out of the way. Regaining the car at a
flying leap, he snuggled down in his seat and proceeded to hold his
breath. Of all the reckless drivers he had ever seen, Tsan Ti was
the limit. He banged over the edge of the level into the long slope,
engaging the high speed so quickly that Matt wondered he did not strip
the gear. As the car lurched, and swayed, and bounded Tsan Ti's joy
shone in his puffy face.
"Glory to glory, and all hands 'round!" yelled the cowboy, from behind.
"Change seats with him, Matt! If you don't, he'll string us from the
Mountain House clean to Catskill."
Matt leaned over and gave the steering wheel a turn barely in time
to keep them from hitting a tree. The wake the machine left behind
it looked like a zigzag streak. First they were on one side of the
road, and then on the other, juggling back and forth by the narrowest
of margins, and keeping right side up in defiance with every law of
gravity with which Matt was familiar.
"Cut out the high speed!" shouted Matt. "It's suicide to use that gear
on such a slope as this. We could coast down this hill without an ounce
of power."
A mud guard was loose, and it rattled horribly. The Chinaman was
feeding too much gasoline part of the time, and not enough the rest of
the time. Now and again, the cylinders would misfire, pop wildly, then
jump into a racing hum. That high-powered roadster made as much noise
as a railroad train; and what with Matt yelling directions, and McGlory
whooping like a Comanche at every close call they nipped out of, the
uproar was tremendous.
Through it all the fat Chinaman glowed and, at intervals, gave vent to
ecstatic howls. Whenever they escaped a tree that had threatened them,
he exploded jubilantly.
"I can't stand this, pard!" roared McGlory. "I'm goin' to jump out, if
you don't stop him!"
To argue with Tsan Ti, in all that turmoil of sound, was out of the
question.
Hardly had the cowboy ceased speaking when, through the wild hubbub of
noise, Matt thought he heard a sharp detonation. Of this he was not
sure, but, almost immediately, a front tire blew up, and the machine
swerved wildly.
Bang--_crash!_
The automobile made a wild effort to climb a tree, and the next thing
Motor Matt realized was the fact that he was turning handsprings in the
road.
Silence, sudden and grim, followed the frantic medley of sound. A bird
twittered somewhere off in the woods, and the flutelike notes hit
Matt's tortured ear-drums like a volley of musketry.
He got up, dazedly. His hat was gone, and one of his trouser legs was
missing. The back of his head, still tender from a blow he had received
in Grand Rapids, reminded him by a sharp twinge that it had been badly
treated.
Matt limped to the tree that had caused the wreck, and leaned against
it. Then, and not till then, was he able to make a comprehensive view
of the scene.
The front of the automobile was badly smashed--so badly that it was a
wonder Matt had ever escaped with his life. One of the forward wheels
had come off.
McGlory, in his shirt sleeves--and with one sleeve missing--was on his
hands and knees. He was facing the mandarin--staring at that remarkable
person with a well-what-do-you-think-of-that expression.
The mandarin was sitting up in the road. The black cap with the red
button was hanging to one side of his head, one of his embroidered
sandals was gone, and the yellow silk blouse and trousers were torn.
In some manner the steering wheel had become detached from the post,
and Tsan Ti was hanging to it like grim death. He seemed still to be
driving, for the steering wheel was in the correct position.
Certainly it was not a time to laugh, but Motor Matt could hardly help
it.