M'GLORY IS LOST—AND FOUND.
This unexpected encounter with Sam Wing was certainly a "hot starter" in the matter of the stolen ruby, although of apparently small consequence in the matter of the stolen car. But Motor Matt was not particular as to which end of the double thread fortune wafted his way. He followed Sam Wing just as zealously as he would have followed Philo Grattan, had it been the white thief instead of the yellow who had fled from the spring.
The cold spring water had run down the cowboy's face, under his collar, and had glued his shirt to his wet skin.
"Speak to me about that!" he breathed angrily, as he labored on. "If the rat-eater hadn't slammed that water into my face, I'd have had him by his yellow throat in a brace of shakes! Wow, but it's cold! I feel as though I was hugging an iceberg. Where's Matt?"
McGlory had not seen his chum since he had plunged into the bushes, but had followed blindly in a course he believed to be the right one, trying only to see how much ground he could cover.
Now, realizing suddenly that he might be on the wrong track, the cowboy halted, peered around him, and listened intently. The timber was thick and the bushes dense on every side. There were no sounds in any direction even remotely suggesting the Chinaman's flight and Matt's pursuit.
"I'm off my bearings and no mistake," reflected the cowboy, searching the ground in vain for some signs of the course taken by Sam Wing and Matt. "Matt will have a time overhauling the chink in this chaparral, and the two of us are needed. But which way am I to go?"
McGlory had been hurrying along the side hill that edged the valley and the road. He swept his eyes across the narrow valley, and then up the slope toward the top of the hill.
"It's a cinch," he ruminated, "that Sam Wing wouldn't go near the trail, but would do his level best to get as far away from it as he could. That means, if I'm any guesser, that he climbed the hill and tried to lose himself beyond. Me for the other side," and the cowboy began pawing and scrambling up the steep slope.
Ten minutes of hard work brought him to the crest, and here again he halted to peer anxiously around and to listen. He could neither hear nor see anything that gave him a line on Matt and the Chinaman.
"Whoop-ya!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Matt! Where are you, pard?"
A jaybird mocked him from somewhere in the timber, and a frightened hawk took wing and soared skyward.
"Blamed if this ain't real excitin'!" growled the cowboy. "I'm going to do something to help lay that yellow tinhorn by the heels, though, and you can paste that in your hat. If Matt came over the hill, then it stands to reason he went down on this other side. I'll keep on, by guess and by gosh, and maybe something will happen."
McGlory kept on for half an hour, floundering through the bushes, making splendid time in his slide to the foot of the hill, and from there striking out on an erratic course that carried him toward all points of the compass. He climbed rocky hills and descended them, he followed ravines, and he sprinted across narrow levels, yelling for Matt from time to time, but receiving no answer. Then he discovered that something had happened—and that he was lost.
Trying to locate himself by the position of the sun, he endeavored to return to the road. Instead of calling for Matt, he now began whooping it up for Martin. The sun appeared to be in the wrong place, and the road and the spring had vanished. The farther McGlory went, the more confused and bewildered he became. At last he dropped down on a bowlder and panted out his chagrin and disgust.
"Lost! Me, Joseph Easy Mark McGlory, Arizona puncher and boss trailer of the deserts and the foothills! Lost, plumb tangled up in my bearings, clean gone off the jump—and in this two-by-twice range of toy mountains where Rip Van Winkle snoozed for twenty years. I wonder if Rip was as tired as I am when he laid down to snatch his forty winks. Sufferin' tenderfoot! I've walked far enough to carry me plumb to Albany, if it had all been in a straight line. Matt!" and again he lifted his voice. "Martin!"
The lusty yell echoed and reverberated through the surrounding woods, but brought no answer.
Then, suddenly, the cowboy was seized from behind by a pair of stout arms, pulled backward off the bowlder, and flattened out on the ground by a heavy knee on his chest.
It had all happened so quickly that McGlory was dazed. He was a moment or two in recovering his wits and in recognizing the sinister face and mocking eyes that bent down over him.
"Grattan!" he gasped.
"Ay, messmate," gibed a voice from near at hand; "Grattan and Bunce. Don't forget Bunce."
The cowboy turned his head and saw the sailor. The green patch decorated one of the sailor's eyes, but the other eye taunted the luckless prisoner with an exultant gleam.
McGlory struggled desperately under Grattan's hands.
"Stop it!" ordered Grattan.
As McGlory had made no headway with his frantic struggles, he decided to obey the command.
"What are you doing out here in the woods?" inquired Grattan.
"Ease up on that throat a little," wheezed the cowboy. "Want to take the breath all out of me?" The thief's fingers relaxed slightly. "I left the road a spell ago," proceeded McGlory, "and went wide of my bearings somewhere—I don't know just where."
"Lost, eh?" laughed Grattan. "Well, my lad, you've been found."
"How did you happen to find me?"
"How?" jeered Bunce. "You was makin' more noise than a foghorn. The way you was askin' Motor Matt for help, it's a wonder they didn't hear you in Catskill."
"Tie his hands with something, Bunce," said Grattan.
Bunce looked taken aback for a space, then whipped his knife laniard from about his neck, removed the knife, doubled the cord, and contrived a lashing that was strong enough to answer the purpose.
Grattan heaved the cowboy over upon his face and pulled his wrists behind him. In less than a minute the cord was in place, and the prisoner was freed of Grattan's gripping hands and allowed to sit up, his back against the bowlder.
"This meeting," grinned Grattan, "was entirely unexpected, and a pleasant surprise."
"A pleasant surprise for you, I reckon," grunted McGlory. "What did you jump onto me for like this? What good is it going to do you?"
"What benefit I am to derive from this encounter," replied Grattan, "remains to be seen. Tell me, my lad, are you and Motor Matt looking for Tsan Ti?"
An angry denial was on the cowboy's lips, but he thought better of the words before they were spoken.
"Never you mind who we're looking for, Grattan," said he.
"It's for Tsan Ti, I am sure," went on Grattan. "He's somewhere in this section, for he left Gardenville on foot, early this morning, preceded by his man, Sam Wing. I don't know exactly what's up, but I'm rather inclined to think that the mandarin is afraid of me, and is trying to get back to Catskill and place himself under the wing of his estimable protector, Motor Matt. You and Matt heard he was coming and advanced to meet him. The same man who told me the fat Chinaman was in the hills must have given you boys the same information."
"Who was thehombre, Grattan?" queried McGlory, secretly delighted to think Grattan's speculations were so wide of the mark.
"A man in a white runabout with a red torpedo beard."
"I wouldn't know a red torpedo beard from a Piute's scalplock, but I do recollect a shuffer in a white car."
This white runabout was one of the cars Matt, Martin, and McGlory had passed on the road, and the driver was one of those of whom they had made inquiries. The inquiries, of course, had been all about the stolen automobile and not about the fat Chinaman. If Grattan had been in the stolen car when asking the man in the white runabout for news of Tsan Ti, then why hadn't the runabout driver remembered the blue car and told Matt something about it?
"Where were you," went on the cowboy, "when you hailed the man in the white car?"
"On foot, by the spring," answered Grattan genially.
He was an educated man and usually good-natured—sometimes under the most adverse circumstances. That was his way, perhaps on the principle that an easy manner is best calculated to disarm suspicion.
"Where was the car you and Bunce stole from the Catskill garage?" asked the cowboy.
"We tucked it away in a pocket of the hills that my friend Pardo knew about," explained Grattan, tacitly admitting the theft and, in his customary fashion, not hesitating to go elaborately into details. "We failed to finish the work that took us to Gardenville last night. When we learned at the railroad station in that town that the fat Chinaman had started south on foot, about break of day, following another of his countrymen, we rushed the car back into an obscure place. It is not advisable, you understand, to make that car too prominent. We shall have to use it by night. Bunce and I rode to the spring on our motor cycles for the purpose of watching the road. The white runabout came along, and the driver told us, he had passed Tsan Ti, walking this way. We waited for him to pass the spring, but he did not. Thinking he had taken to the rough country, Bunce and I returned our wheels to the place where we have pitched temporary camp and began prowling around in the hope of finding the mandarin. Then, quite unexpectedly, I assure you, we heard you calling. We came to this place, guided by the sound of your voice. You know the rest, and——"
Grattan bit off his words abruptly. From a distance came a hail, so far off as to be almost indistinguishable.
"Motor Matt!" exclaimed Grattan, with a laugh. "He's looking for you, McGlory. If this keeps up, we're going to have quite a reunion. Put a hand over his lips, Bunce," he added to the sailor.
McGlory tried to give a desperate yell before the hand closed over his mouth, but he was not quick enough. Grattan, leaning against the bowlder, threw back his head and answered the distant call.
The voice in the woods drew closer and closer.
"Call again, excellent one!" came the weary voice from the scrub. "I heard you shouting some time ago, and you were calling the name of an esteemed friend for whom I am looking. Speak loudly to me, so that I may come where you are."
The three by the bowlder were astounded.
"Tsan Ti," muttered Grattan, "or I don't know the voice. Luck, Bunce! Whoever thought this could happen? The mandarin heard McGlory calling for Motor Matt—and now the mandarin is looking for McGlory and is going to findus." A chuckle came with the words. "Lie low, Bunce, and watch McGlory. Leave the trapping of Tsan Ti to me."
"POCKETED."
For the cowboy pleasant fancies were cropping out of this surprising turn of events. He reflected that Grattan did not know Sam Wing had stolen the ruby from Tsan Ti. By entrapping Tsan Ti, Grattan was undoubtedly counting upon getting hold of the Eye of Buddha.
If Bunce had known how little love McGlory had for the mandarin, he would not have been at so much pains to keep a hand over his lips. Just at that moment nothing could have induced the cowboy to shout a warning to the approaching Chinaman.
Kneeling behind the bowlder, Grattan lifted his voice for Tsan Ti's benefit. Presently the mandarin was decoyed around the side of the bowlder, and his capture expeditiously effected.
He was a badly demoralized Chinaman. His usually immaculate person had been eclipsed by recent hardships, and he was tattered and torn and liberally sprinkled with dust. His flabby cheeks were covered with red splotches where thorny undergrowth had left its mark. He was so fagged, too, that he could hardly stand. At the merest touch from Grattan he tumbled over. A most melancholy spectacle he presented as he sat on the ground and stared at Grattan with jaws agape.
"Oh, friend of my friend," wheezed Tsan Ti, passing his gaze to McGlory, "was it you who shouted?"
"First off it was," answered McGlory; "after that, Grattan took it up."
"And you are a prisoner?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
"I'm the man for you to talk to, Tsan Ti," put in Grattan grimly. "It's me you're to reckon with."
"Evil individual," answered the mandarin, "my capture will not help you in your rascally purposes. Is not my present distress sufficient, without any of your unwelcome attentions? Behold my plight! What more can you do to make me miserable?"
"I can take the ruby away from you, for one thing."
A mirthless smile crossed the mandarin's fat face. A chuckle escaped McGlory.
Grattan stared hard at the Chinaman, and then flashed a quick glance at the cowboy.
"What are you thinking of, McGlory?" he demanded.
"I'm thinking that you're fooled again, Grattan," answered McGlory. "You know so much that I wonder you haven't heard that the mandarin has lost the ruby."
"Lost it?" A look of consternation crossed Grattan's face. "I'll never believe that," he went on. "Tsan Ti knows where the Eye of Buddha is, and there are ways to make him tell me."
"Ay, ay," flared Bunce, with a fierce look, "we'll make him tell if we have to lash him to a tree and flog the truth out o' him."
"Wretches," said the mandarin, "no matter what yourhard thoughts may counsel, or your wicked hands contrive, you cannot make me tell what I do not know."
Grattan would not trust Bunce to search the mandarin, but proceeded about the work himself. Two chopsticks, a silver cigarette box, an ivory case with matches, a bone-handled back scratcher, a handkerchief, a fan, and a yellow cord some three feet long were the results of the search.
There was no ruby. Grattan prodded a knife blade into Tsan Ti's thick queue in his search for the gem, and even ripped out the lining of his sandals, but uselessly.
"You know where the ruby is," scowled Grattan, giving way to more wrath than McGlory had ever seen him show before; "and, by Heaven, I'll make you tell before I'm done with you."
Tossing the yellow cord to Bunce, Grattan drew back and ordered the sailor to secure the mandarin's hands in the same way he had lashed the cowboy's.
Tsan Ti seemed to accept the situation philosophically. But that he was in desperate straits and hopeless was evidenced by his remark when Bunce was done with the tying:
"Despicable person, I had rather you put the yellow cord about my throat than around my wrists."
"You'll get it around the throat when we get back to the pocket," said Grattan brutally. "Take charge of McGlory, Bunce," he added, "and come with me."
Tsan Ti was ordered to his feet. Thereupon, Grattan seized his arm and pulled him along through the woods.
McGlory would have given something handsome if he could have had the use of his hands for about a minute. Bunce would have been an easy problem for him to solve if he had not been hampered by the knife laniard. As it was, however, the cowboy was forced to get to his feet and, with the sailor as guard, follow after Grattan and Tsan Ti.
Captors and captives traveled for nearly a mile through uneven country, thick with timber, then descended into a ravine, followed it a little way beyond a point where it was crossed by a wagon road, and came to a niche in the gully wall.
Perhaps the term "cavern" would better describe the place where Grattan, Pardo, and Bunce had pitched their temporary camp. The hole was an ancient washout, its face covered with a screen of brush and creepers.
In front of the niche, standing in a place where it had been backed from the road on the "reverse," was the blue automobile. Leaning against the automobile were the two motor cycles; and from the tonneau of the car, as Grattan and Bunce approached with their prisoners, arose the form of Pardo.
"Well, well!" exclaimed Pardo, thrusting his head out from under the top. "If we haven't got visitors! Where did you pick up the mandarin, Grattan?"
"Between here and the Gardenville road," answered Grattan. "It was easy work. Both the chink and the cowboy were kind enough to yell and tell us where they were."
Pardo, understanding little of what had really occurred, opened his eyes wide.
"Tell me more about it," said he.
"After I get the prisoners in the pocket. Bunce, bring a rope. Hold McGlory, Pardo, while he's doing it."
Pardo jumped down from the automobile and caught the cowboy's arm.
"I guess you're a heap easier to deal with than your friend, Motor Matt," was his comment.
"No guess about it," said McGlory, "it's a cinch. But I'm not fretting any."
The cowboy's eyes were on the stolen car. What a pleasure it would have been to snatch that automobile out of Grattan's clutches, leaving him and his rascally companions stranded in the hills! But that was a dream—and McGlory had already had too many dreams for his peace of mind.
Tsan Ti was shoved by Grattan through the bushes, under the trailing vines and into the washout. Pardo dragged McGlory through, close on their heels.
"Sit down, both of you," ordered Grattan, when the prisoners were in the gloomy confines of the niche.
Tsan Ti and McGlory lowered themselves to the bare earthen floor. Bunce came with the rope, and it was coiled around the cowboy's ankles, and then around the mandarin's.
"I've taken you in, McGlory," observed Grattan, to the cowboy, "for the purpose of finding out what Motor Matt is doing; and I've captured the mandarin with the idea of getting the ruby. I'm a man who hews steadily to the line, once he marks it out. I'll have my way with both of you before I am done. Mark that. You can't get away from here. Even if you were not bound hand and foot, you'd have to pass the automobile in order to reach the road—and Pardo, Bunce, and I will be in the automobile. We're all heeled, which is a point you will do well to remember."
Having eased his mind in this manner, Grattan went out of the niche, Bunce and Pardo following him. They could be heard climbing into the automobile, and then their low voices came in a mumble to the ears of the prisoners.
"Fated friend," gulped the mandarin, "the ten thousand demons of misfortune are working sad havoc with Tsan Ti."
"Buck up!" returned McGlory. "We're pocketed, all right, but matters might be worse."
"What cheering thoughts can I possibly have?" mourned the mandarin. "The Eye of Buddha has escaped me, gone I do not know where, in the possession of that Canton dog, Sam Wing, who——"
"Hist!" breathed McGlory, in a warning voice. "Grattan doesn't know who has the ruby, and it may be a good thing if we keep it to ourselves. Don't lose your nerve. Motor Matt is around, and you can count on him to do something."
"Motor Matt is both notable and energetic," droned the mandarin, "but for him to secure the ruby from Sam Wing is too much to hope for."
"There you're shy a few, Tsan Ti. I'll bet my scalp against that queue of yours that Matt has already captured Sam Wing and recovered the Eye of Buddha."
Tsan Ti stirred restlessly.
"Do not deceive me with hope, honorable friend," he begged.
"Well, listen," and McGlory proceeded to tell Tsan Ti what had happened at the spring.
Tsan Ti's hopes arose. He had been ready to grasp at anything, and here McGlory had offered him undreamed-of encouragement.
"There are many brilliant eyes in the plumage of the sacred peacock," he murmured, "but by them all, I vow to you that there is no other youth of such accomplishments as Motor Matt. And, by the five hundred gods of the temple at——"
"Cut it out," grunted McGlory. "You've got Matt and me into no end of trouble with your foolishness. When you get that ruby into your hands again, stop fumbling with it. Pass it over to some one who knows how to look after it, but don't try the job yourself. This is first-chop pidgin I'm giving you, Tsan Ti, and I don't know why I'm handing it out, after the way you hocused my pard and me with that piece of red glass. But it's good advice, for all that, and you'd better keep it under your little black cap."
Tsan Ti relapsed into thoughtful silence. The mumble of voices continued to creep in through the swinging vines and the bush tops, but otherwise the quiet that filled the "pocket" was intense.
The mandarin was first to speak. Leaning toward the cowboy, he whispered:
"There's a chance, companion of my distress, that we may be able to make our escape."
"What's the number?" queried the cowboy.
Thereupon the mandarin began revealing the plan that had formed in his mind. It was the fruit of considerable reflection and promised well.
SPRINGING A "COUP."
Stripped of its ornamental trimmings, the mandarin's plan was marvelously simple. McGlory was to roll over with his back to him, and he engaged to gnaw through the knife laniard. When the cowboy's hands were free it would be only a few moments until he removed the ropes from his ankles and set Tsan Ti at liberty.
This accomplished, McGlory was to set up a racket, calling Grattan, Bunce, and Pardo into the pocket. As they crashed through the brush in one direction, the mandarin would crash through it in another, reach the motor cycles, and rush away on one before Grattan or his companions had an opportunity to use their firearms.
"H'm," reflected McGlory. "That's a bully plan, Tsan Ti—for you. You're the boy to look out for Number One, eh? This surprise party you're thinking of springing reminds me of the way you unloaded that imitation ruby on Motor Matt, and then sat back and allowed Matt and me to play tag with Grattan."
"What is the fault with my plan, generous sir?" asked the mandarin.
"Of course," went on the cowboy, with fine sarcasm, "I don't amount to much. I kick up a disturbance in here, and when Grattan, Pardo, and Bunce rush in on me, you make a run for one of the motor cycles. In other words, I hold the centre of the stage and make things interesting for the three tinhorns while you burn the air on a benzine bike and get as far outdoors as you can. Fine!"
"Pardon, exalted friend," demurred Tsan Ti, "but you overlook the point that I will be pursued."
"I don't think I overlook a blessed point, Tsan Ti. But just answer me this: What's the good of escaping? Grattan will have to let us go sooner or later. If we put up with these uncomfortable ropes for a spell, we'll both get clear and without running the risk of stopping a bullet."
"Accept my excuses, noble youth, and please remember Grattan made some remarks about choking me with the cord in case I did not reveal the whereabouts of the ruby. That would not be pleasant."
"Sufferin' stranglers!" exclaimed McGlory; "I'd forgotten about that. Can't say that I blame you for thinking twice for yourself and once for me. I'll help on the game." The cowboy rolled over with his back to the mandarin. "Now get busy with your teeth," he added, "and be in a rush. There's no telling when the pallavering outside will be over with, and if those fellows get through before we do, the kibosh will be on us and not on them."
The logic of this last remark was not lost upon the mandarin. He grunted and wheezed and used his teeth with frantic energy. While he panted and labored, both he and the cowboy kept their ears sharp for the mumble of talk going on outside.
Fortunately for thecoupthe prisoners were intending to spring, the talk continued unabated. The laniard was gnawed in half, and McGlory sat up, brought his hands around in front of him, and rubbed the places where the mandarin's sharp teeth had slipped from the cord.
"You've turned part of the trick, Tsan Ti," commended the cowboy; "now watch me do my share."
With his pocket knife he slashed through the coil that held his feet, and he would then have treated the yellow cord about the mandarin's wrists in like manner had he not been stopped by a quick word.
"The yellow cord, illustrious one," said the Chinaman, "must be untied. It is a present from his imperial highness, my regent, and I may yet be obliged to use it in the customary way."
"Oh, hang your regent!" grumbled McGlory, but yielded to the mandarin's request and began untying the cord with his fingers.
This was slow work, for McGlory's fingers were still numb from the effects of his own bonds. In due course, however, the cord was removed, and the Chinaman lifted himself to a sitting posture. The cowboy used the knife on the rope that secured Tsan Ti's feet, while the latter was solicitously coiling up the yard of yellow cord and putting it away in his pocket.
"Now, courageous friend," whispered the mandarin, getting up noiselessly and stepping to the swinging green barrier at the mouth of the niche, "we are ready."
"You know how to manage a motor cycle?" queried McGlory, suddenly stifling the roar that was almost on his lips.
"Excellently well, superlative one."
"Then good luck to you. Here goes."
Above the fearsome commotion McGlory made, the words "Help!" and "Hurry!" might have been distinguished. Startled exclamations came from the automobile, followed by a sound of scrambling as the three thieves tumbled out. Then there was a crashing among the bushes and the vines, and McGlory rolled back at full length and shoved his unbound hands under him.
"What's the matter?" cried Grattan, who was first to enter the pocket.
"Mandarin tried to knife me!" whooped McGlory. "Why didn't you take his knife away from him? I might have been sent over the one-way trail if I hadn't yelled."
All three of the men were in the niche by that time.
"Where is the chink?" shouted Grattan.
The poppety-pop-pop of a motor in quick action came from without.
"He's tripped his anchor and is makin' off!" yelled Bunce.
"Stop him!" fumed Grattan, and instantly he followed Bunce and Pardo back through the swinging screen of vines and bushes.
Chuckling with delight, McGlory leaped erect, sprang to the vines, and parted them so he could look out.
Tsan Ti, his motor working splendidly, was streaking down the ravine toward the road. Bunce, who had led in the rush from the pocket, had mounted the other motor cycle and was coaxing his engine into action with the pedal.
"Catch him, Bunce!" bellowed Grattan.
Bunce's answer was lost in a series of explosions as his motor got to work. As he whirled away, Grattan and Pardo ran after him to watch the pursuit as long as possible.
And thus it chanced that good luck came McGlory's way, after all. He had pretended, when Grattan and the other two came into the pocket, that he was tied, and the excitement following Bunce's discovery that the mandarin was escaping prevented any examination of the cowboy's bonds. Now McGlory had the neighborhood of the pocket to himself, and within a dozen feet of where he stood was the blue touring car, unguarded!
A daring plan rushed through the cowboy's head. Why not crank up the automobile's engine and rush down the ravine?
There was a chance that he could reach the road. If Grattan or Pardo got in his way, he could run them down; if they drew off to one side and fired at him, he could trust to luck.
"Nothing venture, nothing win!" muttered the reckless cowboy, and pushed through the vines and bushes and jumped for the front of the car.
An angle of the ravine hid Grattan and Pardo. One look made McGlory certain on this point, and another look showed him the rough surface which the automobile had to get over. There was a fine chance to blow up a tire or come to grief against a jutting rock, but the cowboy had staked everything on a single throw, and he was not to be frightened by difficulties.
He gave the crank a couple of turns, and the engine answered with a fierce sputter and an increasing rattle of explosions.
That sound, if Grattan and Pardo were near enough to hear, advertised plainly what McGlory was about. He lost not a moment in scrambling into the driver's seat and getting the car to going.
The automobile started with a jump, and lurched and swayed over the uneven ground like a ship in a storm. Bending to the steering wheel, McGlory nursed the car onward with the spark.
The machine rounded the turn. The road was in plain view—but so were Grattan and Pardo.
Consternation was written large in the faces of the two thieves. The car was being hurled toward them, plunging and buck-jumping as it met the high places, and the two men had to throw themselves sideways to clear the path.
"Stop!" roared Grattan, drawing a revolver.
McGlory's answer was a defiant yell. As the car rushed by Pardo he made a jump for it—and was knocked roughly back toward the ravine wall.
Bang!
That was Grattan's weapon, echoing high about the racket of the unmuffled motor. Something ripped through the rear of the top and crooned its wicked song within an inch of McGlory's head.
But the cowboy laughed. He hadn't blown up a tire or smashed any of the machinery, he was turning into the road, and Grattan and Pardo were behind him!
"We've knocked the hoodoo galley west!" McGlory exulted. "Oh, what do you think of this!Whatdo you think of it!" and he let the sixty champing horses under the bonnet snatch him along the road at their best clip.
MOTOR MATT'S CHASE.
Meanwhile, the king of the motor boys, without the remotest idea as to what was happening to his cowboy pard, was exacting his own tribute from the realm of exciting events.
When he started after Sam Wing, Matt had no time to give to any one else. He supposed that McGlory was following him, but was altogether too busy to look behind and make sure. It was a trifling matter, anyhow. The main thing was to catch Sam Wing, and Matt threw himself into the pursuit with ardor.
McGlory, it will be remembered, had worked upon the theory that the Chinaman, eager to get as far from the road as possible, had gone over the hill. But this was incorrect. Sam Wing hustled along the hillside slope, his course paralleling the valley and the road.
Very early in the chase the Chinaman lost his grass sandals, and a little later his stockings, but loss of his footwear seemed to help rather than diminish his speed.
Motor Matt was "no slouch" as a long-distance runner, but Sam Wing proved a handful for him. From time to time Matt would gain, coming so close to the hustling Celestial that he shouted a call for him to stop, but the Chinaman, gathering himself together for a spurt, ducked away to his usual lead, and the chase went merrily on.
Once Matt nearly had him. A section of treacherous bank broke away under Sam Wing's feet, and the pursued man flung up his arms and dropped straight downward. Matt paused on the brink and looked below for three or four yards to a little shelf gouged from the bankside. Sam Wing, scarred and apparently senseless, was lying sprawled on the shelf.
Matt slipped and slid downward, fairly certain that he was at the end of his exciting trail; but, just as his feet struck the shelf, the Chinaman rolled over the edge and carromed away in a break-neck descent that finally plunged him into the road.
This was the identical road that led past the spring, and Matt and Sam Wing were somewhere between the spring and Gardenville. Where Martin was with the automobile, Matt did not know, but if Martin had beenat that point in the road when the Chinaman rolled into it, an easy capture could have been made.
There was some one in the road besides Sam Wing, however, and the traveler was an old colored man, riding toward Gardenville on a mule. The mule and the colored man were about a hundred feet away from Wing when he got to his feet. As soon as the Chinaman's eyes rested on the long-eared brute and its aged rider, he started at speed in their direction.
Matt jumped into the road with less than twenty-five feet between himself and Sam Wing. Once more he deceived himself with the idea that the chase was narrowing to a close.
The mule, throwing its head and swinging its long ears, was ambling leisurely along the way. The old darky appeared to be in a doze.
Matt, divining Sam Wing's intentions, gave vent to a warning yell. The darky aroused himself and flung a look over his shoulder. But it was too late, for Wing had already grabbed him by one of his dangling feet. Another moment and the negro had been roughly pulled into the road. Wing scrambled to the mule's back and dug into the animal with his naked heels. Probably the mule was as startled as his former rider, for he broke into a lumbering lope.
The chase, just then, took on a hopeless outlook for Motor Matt. If Martin had only happened along in the automobile, the fleeing Chinaman could have been brought up with a round turn, but Matt, with only his feet under him, could not hope to overtake the galloping mule.
The darky, as Matt came up with him, was gathering in his ragged hat and climbing to an upright position. He wore a look of puzzled astonishment.
"Ain't dat scan'lous?" he cried. "Ah done been slammed into de road by er Chinymum! En he's got mah mu-el! He's er runnin' erway wif mah Gin'ral Jackson mu-el. By golly, whaffur kind ob way is dat tuh treat an ole moke lak me?"
"It was pretty rough, uncle, and that's a fact," replied Matt, smothering an inclination to laugh at the ludicrous picture the old negro presented. "If we had another mule, I could catch the rascal, but it is too much of a job for me with nothing to ride."
"You chasin' dat 'ar Chinymum, boss?" inquired the darky.
"Yes."
"Has he been up tuh somefin' dat he hadn't ort?"
"He has."
"Den yo' lis'en heah, chile," and a slow grin crept over the wizened, ebony face of the negro. "Erbout er mile ahead dar's a bridge ovah a creek, en dat 'ar Chinyman ain't gwine tuh ride Gin'ral Jackson ovah dat bridge."
"Why not?"
"'Case dat fool mu-el won't cross no bridge if yo' doan' cotch his off eah en give hit a pull. Mu-els is mouty queer daterway, en Gin'ral Jackson is a heap queerer dan any othah mu-el yo' most evah see. He's skeered ob a bridge, en pullin' his off eah done takes his min' off'n de bridge, lak, en he goes ovah wifout mistrustin'. Now, dat yalluh Chinymum trash doan' know dat, en ef he try to mek Gin'ral Jackson cross de bridge wifout pullin' his off eah, dar's suah gwine to be doin's, en——"
Just at that moment a boy came along on a bicycle. He was evidently making a long journey, for he had a bag strapped to the handle bars.
"Wait a minute!" called Matt to the boy.
The bicycle halted, and the lad rested one foot on the ground and looked inquiringly at Matt.
"I wish you'd lend me your wheel for a few minutes," said Matt. "A Chinaman just stole this old darky's mule, and I believe I can overhaul the thief if you'll let me take your bicycle."
"Gee!" exclaimed the boy. "How much of a start has the Chinaman got?"
"About three minutes. The darky says there's a bridge a mile ahead, and that the mule won't cross the bridge unless he's coaxed. Perhaps I can come up with the thief at the bridge."
"There you are," said the stranger generously, getting out of the saddle and holding the wheel for Matt.
"Much obliged," returned Matt. "You and the darky come on to the bridge, and perhaps you'll find me rounding up the mule and the Chinaman."
"We'll do it," was the answer.
Matt mounted easily, thrust his toes into the toe clips, and got under way. When he turned an angle of the road, and vanished behind a screen of timber, he was going like a steam engine.
It had been a long time since Matt had ridden an ordinary bicycle, but he had by no means forgotten the knack. He was not long in coming within sight of the bridge, and there, sure enough, were the Chinaman and the mule at the bridge approach.
The Chinaman was having trouble. General Jackson would not cross the bridge, and he was braced back, immovable as the rock of Gibraltar. Sam Wing was using his heels and the flat of his hand in a furious attempt to force the brute onward. General Jackson did not budge an inch, but, from the way he wagged his ears, it was evident that his wrath was growing.
Matt remained silent and bent to the pedals. While Sam Wing was busy urging the mule, Matt was planning to come alongside and treat the Celestial as he had treated the old negro.
This design might have been successfully executed had not General Jackson interfered with it. The mule's temper suddenly gave way under the rain of kicks and blows, and he put his head down between his forelegs and hoisted the rear half of his body into the air. The manœuvre was as sudden as it was unexpected, and Sam Wing went rocketing into space.
The bridge was merely a plank affair, without any guard rails at the sides, and after the Chinaman had done a couple of somersaults in the air he landed with a thump on the bridge, close to the unprotected edge. He started to struggle upright, and the hurried movement caused him to slip over the brink.
He vanished from before Matt's eyes just as he had disappeared from the caving bank—there was a flutter, a yell, a splash, and Sam Wing was gone.
Matt threw on the brake, jumped from the wheel, and, after leaning the machine against a tree, rushed to the bridge.
The creek was narrow, but seemed to be deep, and the Chinaman was floating down with the current.
There was no time for Matt to linger and explainevents to the bicyclist and the negro. Each would recover his property, however, and that ought to satisfy both of them. Springing from the bridge approach, Matt hurried down the bank of the little stream.
The Chinaman, the king of the motor boys thought, must have been made of india rubber to bear so well the series of mishaps that had come his way. He came out of every one with astonishing ability to keep up his flight.
Matt's rush down the creek bank was not continued for long. Sam Wing saw him and made haste to effect a landing on the opposite bank. He emerged, a dripping and forlorn spectacle, and left a damp trail up the bank and into the woods.
Matt did not care to swim the creek in his clothes, and a tree, fallen partly over the stream, afforded him an opportunity to cross dry-shod. The tree was not a large one, and there was a gap of water at the end of it, where the trunk had been splintered and broken away.
With a clear, steady brain and sure feet the king of the motor boys passed to the end of his swaying, insecure bridge; then, with a leap, he cleared the stretch of water and landed on the bank. The force he had put into the jump displaced the tree and caused it to tumble into the creek. It had served its purpose, however, and Matt, without a backward look, tore away along the watery trail of the Chinaman.
THE CHASE CONCLUDED.
When Matt came near enough to see Sam Wing, it seemed plain that the Celestial was yielding to the "blows of circumstance." His flight dragged. Time and time again he cast a wild look over his shoulder at the relentless pursuer, and tried in vain to increase his pace.
His random course crossed a road through the timber with a line of telegraph or telephone poles on one side of it. After a moment's hesitation, Sam Wing chose the road. It was easier going, no doubt, and for that reason probably appealed to him in his fagged condition.
But if it was easier for Sam Wing, so was it for Matt. Now, at last, the eventful chase was certainly approaching its finish.
As the pursuit went on, Matt resolutely closing up the gap between him and the Chinaman, the timber suddenly broke away to give a view of a farmhouse and a barn. Between the house and barn stood a farmer with a rake.
Sam Wing, at the end of his rope and apparently determined on making a last desperate stand, swerved from the road and ran in the direction of the barn.
"Hi, there!" shouted Matt, waving his arms to attract the attention of the farmer, "head him off!"
It was not difficult for the farmer to understand enough of the situation to make him useful in the emergency, and he started energetically to do what he could. Swinging the rake around his head, he hurried toward a point which would intersect the path of the Chinaman.
Sam Wing, even though he was weary and almost spent, continued "game." A small, V-shaped hencoop stood close to the point where he halted and confronted the farmer.
"By Jerry," threatened the farmer, "yew stop! Don't yew try no shenanigin with me, or I'll comb out your pigtail with this here rake. What yew—— Gosh-all-hemlocks!"
It was absolutely necessary for Sam Wing to do something if he did not want to be trapped between the farmer in front and Matt, who was hurrying up behind. Calling upon all his strength, Wing stooped, grabbed the small coop, and hurled it at the farmer's legs.
The coop struck the farmer's shins and doubled his lank frame up like a closed jackknife. He went down, rake and all, and Wing passed around him and lumbered on toward the open barn door.
The farmer's ire was aroused. Getting up on his knees, he began calling, at the top of his lungs: "Tige! Here, Tige!"
Tige, a brindled bulldog, came scurrying from the direction of the house.
"Take 'im, Tige!" bellowed the farmer, pointing toward Sam Wing with the rake.
The Chinaman's Waterloo was close upon him. He had time to give one last frantic look behind, and then Tige caught him by the slack of his dripping garments and pulled him down.
"Don't let the dog hurt him!" yelled Matt.
"Watch 'im, Tige!" cried the farmer. "Good dorg, Tige! Watch 'im!"
The farmer got up and gave the hencoop a vicious kick.
"Jee-whillikins, mister," said he, "what's that slant-eyed heathen been up to, hey? He looks like he'd dropped outen a wet rag bag."
"He's a thief," answered Matt.
"He barked my shins somethin' turrible with that hencoop. But yew got him now, an' don't yew fergit it. That Tige is the best dorg fer tramps an' sich yew ever seen."
Together they walked to the place where Tige, growling savagely and showing his teeth, was standing over the prone Chinaman.
Sam Wing dared not make a move. Had he so much as lifted a finger, the bulldog would have been at his throat.
"Order the dog away," said Matt to the farmer. "I want to talk with the Chinaman, and we'll take him into the barn where we can both sit down on something and rest a little. We've had a hard chase."
The farmer spoke to the dog and the animal slunk away, still keeping his glittering eyes on Sam Wing.
"Looks purty meachin', don't he?" muttered the farmer, peering at the prisoner.
"He's a bad Chinaman," returned Matt, "and he knows it. Get up, Sam Wing," he added, "and go into the barn. Don't try to do any more running. You haven't strength enough to go far, and it won't be best for you."
With wary eyes on the dog, Wing got up and moved toward the barn door. When they were all inside, Matt took down a coil of rope that swung from a nail and started toward the prisoner.
"What yew goin' to do, friend?" asked the farmer.
"Tie him," replied Matt.
"That ain't necessary. Tige is better'n all the ropes that was ever made. All I got ter do is ter tell him ter watch the heathen, an' yew can bet a pair o' gum boots he'll do it."
The farmer spoke to the dog, that had followed them into the barn, and the animal drew close to Sam Wing and sat down within biting distance. Matt, satisfied with the arrangement for the time being, dropped the rope and seated himself on the tongue of a wagon.
"Sam Wing," said the king of the motor boys severely, "you're a mighty bad Chinaman."
"Me savvy," answered Wing, whose English was far from being as good as the mandarin's.
"You stole the ruby from Tsan Ti," went on Matt.
Sam Wing had strength enough left to show some surprise.
"How you savvy?" he inquired.
"I know it, and that's enough. You're a treacherous scoundrel to turn against the mandarin as you did."
"All same," answered Sam Wing, in extreme dejection. "Ten thousand demons makee heap tlouble fol Wing. Me plenty solly."
"You ought to be sorry. Tsan Ti trusted you with his money and had a lot of confidence in you. And you betrayed that confidence."
Sam Wing groaned heavily and caressed his numerous bruises. One of his hands finally reached the breast of his torn blouse, and he fished from it a very wet alligator-skin pouch.
"Here Tsan Ti's money," said he, offering the pouch to Matt. "Me velly bad Chinaman. You takee money, lettee Sam Wing go?"
"I'll take the money," and Matt suited his action to the word, "but I can't let you go until you give up the ruby."
"No gottee luby," came the astonishing assertion from Sam Wing.
"You took it from the mandarin, didn't you?" demanded Matt.
"My takee las' night, no gottee now."
"Where is it?"
"Me losee when me makee lun flom spling. No savvy where me losee—p'laps where me makee fall down bank, p'laps on load, p'laps in cleek—no savvy. Luby gone, me no gottee Eye of Buddha."
It seemed strange to Matt that Sam Wing could carry the alligator-skin pouch safely through all his varied adventures and yet not be able to retain the most valuable part of his cargo—the part which, presumably, he would take care to stow safely.
"Don't tell any lies, Sam Wing!" said Matt sternly.
"No tellee lie—all same one piecee tluth!" protested the Chinaman.
"I'll have to make sure of that," went on Matt.
He searched carefully through the Chinaman's torn and waterlogged apparel, but without discovering anything of value—much less the missing gem.
"Where did you have it?" he asked.
Sam Wing showed him the inside pocket where the ruby had been placed.
"Where have you been since you took the ruby?"
A wave of emotion convulsed the Chinaman's features.
"Evel place," he murmured. "My stay in Galdenville one piecee time, makee tly keepee 'way flom Tsan Ti. Bymby me makee lun fol countlee. Tsan Ti makee see, makee lun, too. My makee hide in hills, foolee Tsan Ti so he no ketchee. My heap hungly, heap thirsty. Findee spling to takee dlink. You come."
Sam Wing shook his head sadly.
"You had the ruby when you were at the spring?" inquired Matt.
The Chinaman nodded.
"And you lost it while I was chasing you?"
Another nod.
Matt, oppressed with what he had heard, and which he felt instinctively was the truth, resumed his seat on the wagon tongue.
The ruby might be lying anywhere over the wild course Sam Wing had taken in his flight. Perhaps it was mixed with the loose earth of the side hill where the Chinaman had fallen, or it might be under the leaves in the woods, or in the dust of the road, or in the bottom of the creek.
Of one thing Matt was sure, and that was that to retrace the exact line of Sam Wing's flight would be impossible; and, even if it were possible, finding the red gem would be as difficult as looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
The Eye of Buddha seemed to be lost irretrievably. This was like to prove a tragic event for Tsan Ti.
It was strange what ill luck had attended upon all in any way connected with the idol's eye; and doubly strange was this final loss of the precious stone.
While Matt was busily turning the catastrophe over in his mind, the farmer suddenly gave a shout and pointed through the open barn door and along the road.
"Great sassafrass!" he exclaimed. "I never seen sich a day fer Chinamen! Look there, will yew?"
Matt looked, and what he saw staggered him. Two motor cycles were coming down the road. Bunce was riding one and Tsan Ti the other. Here was another flight and pursuit, for the sailor was pushing hard upon the heels of the mandarin.
For only a moment was Matt at loss. Gathering up the coil of rope which he had taken from the nail in the barn wall, he called to the farmer to watch the prisoner and ran out of the barn and toward the road.
A DOUBLE CAPTURE.
Matt was bewildered by the strange turn events were taking. Encountering Sam Wing at the spring was odd enough, in all truth, and the weird happenings duringhis pursuit had been as novel as they were thrilling; but here, in a most inexplicable way, came the mandarin and the mariner on motor cycles, wabbling down the road, Tsan Ti in a panic and Bunce aggressive and determined.
Matt shouted, but the two on the motor cycles were so deeply immersed in their own efforts that they paid no attention to the call.
To stop the motor cycles was the first step, and the young motorist went about it in his usual resourceful way. Swiftly he secured one end of the rope to a telegraph pole at the side of the road; then, bounding back, he took a turn with the free end of the rope around a convenient tree. Hanging to the cable that was to form a blockade for the charging wheels, Matt once more gave his attention to Bunce and Tsan Ti.
The pursuit of the mandarin had reached a crisis. The sailor had come close enough to reach out and grab the Chinaman's flying queue, and he was hauling rearward, pulling the mandarin back until his hands had left the handle bars.
"Stop!" shouted Motor Matt, laying back on the end of the rope.
The command was useless, for pursuer and pursued were obliged to halt in spite of it.
The mandarin's swaying motor cycle was first to hit the rope. Before the machine could topple over, Bunce crashed into it. There followed a rasping volley of gasoline explosions, a roar from the sailor, and a chattering yell from the mandarin. The two were on the ground, tangled up with each other and with the motor cycles.
Dropping the rope, Matt rushed at the struggling pair, seized Bunce by the shoulders, and hauled him out of the mix-up.
A revolver had fallen from the sailor's pocket. Matt sprang to secure it, and then faced Bunce, who was on his knees and staring about him dazedly.
"Noble friend!" cried the mandarin, carefully extricating his head from the frame of one of the motor cycles, "you have again preserved the wretched Tsan Ti! The evil personage yonder would presently have caught me!"
Bunce, having finally decided that the situation was one that boded him no good, started to get up and remove himself from the scene.
"I don't believe you'd better leave us just yet, Bunce," called Matt, waving the revolver. "Stay right where you are. This is a complication which you can help the mandarin explain."
"By the seven holy spritsails!" muttered Bunce, falling back in his original position and looking at Matt and then at the farmer. "How, in the name o' Davy Jones," he cried, his gaze returning to Matt, "do you happen to be cruisin' in these waters?"
"Never mind that, for the present. What I want to know is, where have you and the mandarin come from? And why were you chasing him?"
"I have escaped, highly appreciated friend whose kindness is much reciprocated," babbled the mandarin, coming blithely to Matt's side and carefully knocking the dust out of his little black cap. "I have made a never-to-be-forgotten escape from the hands of evil-minded enemies. It was your friend from the cattle districts who helped me."
So far, all that Matt had heard and seen had merely bogged him the more deeply in a mire of misunderstanding. At the mandarin's mention of McGlory, his speculations went off at a wild tangent.
"Did Grattan and Bunce capture the other car?" he demanded. "Where did you find Joe and Martin? Where are they now? What's happened to them?"
"Peace, distinguished youth," said the mandarin, putting on his cap and fluttering his hand reassuringly. "I know nothing about any car except the blue one by the pocket."
"Blue car? Did you see a blue car?"
"Even so, my amazed friend. And beside the blue car leaned those go-devil bicycles. McGlory—faithful assistant in my time of need—helped me beguile Grattan, Pardo, and Bunce into the pocket, whereupon I secured one of the go-devil machines and fled swiftly. The one-eyed sailor followed. Which way we came I do not know. Wherever I saw another road I turned into it. How long we raced is too much for my disturbed faculties to understand. We went, and went, and at last we were here, and I found you! Oh, loyal defender of the most wretched of mandarins, to you I owe my peace, my happiness, and my life! May the six thousand peri of the land of enchantment afford you joy in the life to come!"
"Well, by gum!" muttered the wide-eyed farmer, shifting his rake to the other hand and rubbing a palm against his forehead. "I never seen a heathen that could talk like that before. Some remarkable now, ain't it?"
Matt was too deeply concerned with what Tsan Ti had said to pay much attention to the farmer. He kept his watchful eyes on Bunce, however, while seeking to get deeper into the perplexing situation that so suddenly confronted him.
"Let's begin at the beginning, Tsan Ti," said he, "and try and smooth out the knots of this amazing tangle with some sort of system. McGlory and I received your telegram. What happened to you after Sam Wing stole the ruby?"
"I awoke from my dreams in great fright, inquiring friend," responded the mandarin, "and found the ruby gone, and Sam Wing gone. There was but one thing for me to think, and I thought it. The train was at a station, and I jumped from the steps. I looked for Sam Wing, but he had vanished; then I sent my telegramand waited until you might arrive. In the gray dawn that came into the east, I saw Sam Wing suddenly flash by the open door of the railroad station. I shouted and ran after him, but he evaded me. Ah, the dreary heart-sickness in my breast as I pursued the traitor!" The mandarin clutched at his frayed yellow blouse and wrung a fold of it in his fat fingers. "Who can tell of that? I followed the wagon road through the mountains, looking and listening. Then I heard some one, afar off, shouting the name of Motor Matt. Hope leaped high within me, for that name, notable sir, has a magic of its own. I turned from the road, climbed many rocks, and crushed through thick growths of prickly bushes, striving to reach the one who had shouted. Also, I shouted myself, and presently, to my great but mistaken delight, other shoutings were returned to me. I went on, in my deceived state, and came to a place where I was captured—made a prisoner by Grattan and that contemptible mariner of the single eye! Your friend of the cattle districts was likewise a prisoner."
"McGlory—captured by Grattan!" gasped Matt. "How did that happen? Why, I thought he was with Martin."
"Not so, deceived friend. He had tried to follow you in the pursuit of Sam Wing, and he had lost knowledge of his location, and was shouting to hear some speak and tell him where he was. That is what I heard. Before I could reach your friend, Grattan and Bunce had also heard him, and made him a prisoner. Then they heard me, and mademea captive. Verily, the ten thousand demons have had me under the ban."
"I'm beginning to get at this," said Matt grimly. "Where did you and Grattan come from, Bunce, that you were placed so handily for entrapping McGlory and the mandarin?"
"We'd made port in the hills," replied Bunce, "an' was out lookin' for Tsan Ti an' the ruby."
"They, miserable creatures," resumed the mandarin, with a glance of contempt at Bunce, "had the blue car and the go-devil bicycles in a gashed-out spot among the mountains. A cavern, named by them a pocket, was in the wall of the rough valley. There were McGlory and I taken and bound. While Grattan, Bunce, and Pardo, birds of evil feather, were plotting in the blue car, I gnawed the cord that secured your unfortunate friend's hands, and he freed himself and me. After that McGlory raised a great clamor. Grattan, Bunce, and Pardo came hastily to observe what might be the trouble, and I went out of the pocket as they came in. Then I took the motor cycle, as I have said, and moved away, followed by the mariner. Is the matter clear, esteemed friend?"
"I'm beginning to understand it," answered Matt. "It's the queerest mix-up I ever heard of. Strange that you and Joe should fall into the hands of Grattan and Bunce, as you did, and that you should happen to lead Bunce this way when you fled on the motor cycle."
"Matter-of-fact youth," remarked the mandarin earnestly, "do you not realize how strange events happen swiftly in the wake of the Eye of Buddha? The ten thousand demons are doing their worst continually, and their powers for evil are vast beyond imagining!"
"We'll pass over that phase of the matter," said Matt dryly, "and try to get at something that will benefit McGlory. Can you take me to this 'pocket,' as you call it?"
"Not so," replied the mandarin. "I have no recollection how I came from it, or what roads I took. The roads were many, and the way was long, and my mind was too greatly disturbed to pay attention."
"Where's the pocket, Bunce?" asked Matt, addressing the sailor.
"I know, messmate," scowled Bunce, "but I'm not showin' ye the course."
Matt was in a quandary. He could not understand why Grattan had captured McGlory, but he was not intending to let his chum remain any longer in the hands of the thieves than was absolutely necessary. A way would be found to make Bunce lead him to the pocket.
"Generous and agreeable friend," spoke up Tsan Ti, "did you succeed in capturing Sam Wing?"
"I did," replied Matt.
"Then may I request of you the Eye of Buddha?"
"I'll take you to Sam Wing and you can request it of him," said Matt. "Get up, Bunce," he ordered, "and start yourself for the barn. Will you," and Matt shot a glance at the farmer, "kindly remove that rope from the road and set the motor cycles upright in a place where they will be safe?"
"Glad to do anythin' fer yew that I can," answered the farmer, dropping his rake and getting busy with the rope.
Matt, face to face with the ordeal of acquainting Tsan Ti with the fact that the ruby was irretrievably lost, was wondering, as he drove Bunce toward the barn, what the result of the catastrophe was to be.