GEORGE AND M'GLORY MISSING.
The hum of the motor was soothing to Matt's troubled spirit, and even the kick of the wheel sent a joyous thrill through his every nerve. There were clouds in the west, and a promise of wind and rain in the air, but if there was to be a storm it would not come before night, andtheSpritewould have ample time to nose her way up the Catfish and into the creek.
It was surprising how quickly the kinks of fortune straightened themselves out for Motor Matt whenever he found himself in control of an explosive engine.
The sun was sinking behind the capitol as theSpriteheaded toward Winnequa on her way to the Canal. The yellow rays pierced the gathering clouds, and Madison peered from its enveloping greenery like a phantom city.
A number of fishermen were rowing, sailing, and motoring home for supper, and they stared at the dashing littleSprite, and some of them yelled a cheerful greeting to the diminutive colored boy perched on the launch's hood.
"Dat's de Gobernor ob Wisconsin," Pete gravely explained, indicating a grizzled fisherman in one of the boats. "Ah knows him as well as Ah knows anybody. De fellah in dat rowboat wif de pipe is Honnerbull Tawm Patterson, en he's done took me by de han' mo' times dan Ah kin count. De lake is full ob notoribus pussuns tuhnight, seems lak."
"Where's the Czar of Russia?" asked Matt soberly.
"Ah reckons he was too busy tuh come out tuhday," answered Pete. "Ah knows him, dough. Ah done took him tuh a good fishin' place ovah by Picnic P'int las' week."
They passed the canal and locks, swept into Fourth Lake, and Pete lined out a westerly course that carried theSpritepast the high bluffs of McBride's Point with the buildings of the asylum in clear view.
Pete's chatter enlivened the trip wonderfully. The little moke was a "notoribus" personage, to take his word for it, and there were very few famous people whom he had not shaken hands with or conducted around the lakes. Matt was surprised to learn that he had dug bait for Julius Cæsar and had shown Napoleon Bonaparte a pickerel hole off Governor's Island.
The Catfish was comparatively easy for theSprite, but Whisky Creek—which, Pete said, was the particular creek Matt was looking for—was too shoal. After they had grounded twice, and backed clear with considerable difficulty, Matt decided to tie up to a tree on the creek bank and go on to the cabin on foot.
By then it was falling dark, and Matt wanted to cover the remainder of his journey as quickly as possible.
"Pete," said he, getting out on the creek bank, "I'm going to leave you with the boat for a short time, while I go up the creek."
Pete immediately had an attack of the "shakes."
"Golly, boss," he chattered, "Ah doan' lak de da'k when Ah's erlone. Hit's spookerous, en white things done trabbel erroun' lookin' fo' brack folks. Where you-all gwine?"
"Not far. I ought to be back in an hour. You're not afraid of spooks, are you, Pete? I should think a chap who was the friend of so many illustrious people would be above such foolishness."
The gathering wind sobbed through the trees, and from somewhere a screech-owl tuned up in a most hair-raising way.
"Br-r-r!" muttered Pete, hugging himself and dropping into the bottom of the boat. "Ah ain't afraid, no, sah," he declared plaintively. "Ah ain't afraid ob anythin' dat walks. Hit's dem white ha'nts whut doan' walk, er fly, but moves erlong in er glide, dat gits me a-goin'. Mebby Ah better go along wif yo' en see dot yo' doan' git lost?"
"I'll not get lost, Pete, and I don't want theSpriteleft alone."
"Yo'll be back in er houah, hones'?"
"Yes."
"Den hurry. Ef Ah was lef' in dishyer place twell midnight Ah'd be skeered plumb intuh de 'sylum, sho' as yo's bawn. Hurry up en git back, dat's all."
Pete cuddled up with his back against the stern thwart, and Matt whirled away and vanished into the timber.
As Matt figured it, he was not more than a mile from the cabin. He had landed on the side of the creek where he knew the shack to be, and if he followed the little water course he knew he would soon arrive at the place where he had left George and McGlory.
The timber was broken into by fields of corn, and by cleared pasture land. Matt pushed through the corn and climbed pasture fences, and within half an hour came to the end of his journey.
The cabin, nestling in a clump of oaks, seemed dark and deserted. George had known of the cabin as a rendezvous, in the fall, for duck hunters. It was a quiet and obscure place, and answered admirably the requirements of the boys while working out their plans in Lorry's behalf.
As Matt drew closer to the hut the silence oppressed him with a foreboding that something had gone wrong. The door was open, and he stepped inside.
Still there was no sign of life about the place.
"McGlory!" he called; "George!"
His voice echoed weirdly through the one room of the cabin, but brought no response.
Striking a match, he peered about him.
Empty! There was no one in the room.
The match flickered and dropped from Matt's fingers. Groping his way to a bench, he sat down, alarmed and bewildered.
What had become of McGlory and George? This was the question he asked himself, and his mind framed a dozen different answers, none of them satisfactory.
George was full of whims and unreasonable resolves. Had he suddenly made up his mind that he could not trust Matt to make peace with his father? Had he broken away from McGlory, and had McGlory gone in pursuit of him?
Or was the absence of the boys due to some move against them on the part of Big John?
Or had they gone to some farmhouse after milk and eggs, or to get a hot supper?
That George had not "bolted," Matt was almost sure. Matt's plan for patching up a truce with the elder Lorry had appealed to George too strongly for that.
As for Big John making George and McGlory any trouble, that was possible, although not very probable. Matt did not see how Big John could have any information about the cabin.
And as for the boys visiting a neighboring farmhouse to secure food, it was not in line with their plan for either George or McGlory to show himself until their schemes were further advanced.
Rations had been secured in Waunakee—cold rations, but enough to last all three of the boys for two or three days.
Giving over his bootless reflections, Matt lighted anothermatch, hunted up a candle, and soon had a more dependable glow in the room.
A brief search showed him that George's suit case, McGlory's carpetbag, and his own satchel were missing. This was a staggering discovery. It meant, if it meant anything, that the two boys had left and did not intend to return.
They would hardly go away, it seemed to Matt, without leaving some clue as to their whereabouts, and the cause that had led them to make such a decided change in the general plans. George and McGlory understood that Matt was to return as soon as he had talked with Mr. Lorry.
Matt had expected to get back to the cabin early in the afternoon. Had his failure to return alarmed the two boys?
Matt hunted high and low for some scrap of writing which would let in a little light on the situation, but he could find none.
The rations brought from Waunakee had vanished along with the luggage—another fact that indicated a permanent departure on the part of the two lads.
"Here's a go!" muttered Matt, leaning perplexedly in the open door of the cabin. "About all George and McGlory left behind them was that piece of candle. They might, at least, have tipped me off regarding their intentions, I should think. All sorts of things are liable to happen to a fellow when he's trying to do the right thing by another chap who's too proud and weak-kneed to put himself company-front with his responsibilities. But then, George is an odd stick. He can't be judged by any of the usual standards, and I'm pretty sure that if he's handled right, he'll come out all right. One or the other of them will certainly come back here. I'll return to the mouth of the creek, get Pete, and we'll bunk down in the cabin. It's the only thing to be done."
Perplexed as he was, Matt neglected to put out the candle before starting on his return to the Catfish. On a corner shelf, the feeble gleam sputtered and flickered in the draft that came through the open door.
Matt hastened his steps on the return journey to theSprite. The clouds were slowly mounting and blotting out the stars, intensifying the darkness.
As he came close to the bank where the launch was moored he experienced a feeling of relief when he saw the boat riding to her painter just as she had been left.
TheSpriteresembled a black blot on the water. The bank was rather high, at that point, and its shadow covered the boat.
"Hello, Pete!" called Matt.
There was no answer to the call, and Matt began to think that Pete had vanished, as well as George and McGlory.
"Pete!" Matt cried in a louder tone.
"Yassuh, yassuh," came the answer from below, and Matt's apprehension suddenly subsided.
"Come up here, Pete," Matt went on. "We're going to spend the night up the creek. I guess theSpritewill be safe enough. There's a lantern in the port locker, amidships. Bring it up with you."
Matt could see only the blurred outline of a human form moving around in the boat. He heard the lid of the locker as it was lifted.
"Ah kain't find dat lantern," came from the boat.
"I'll get it," said Matt.
The next moment he had climbed into the launch. Hardly had his feet found firm foothold when he was seized and flung roughly backward. Two pairs of hands held him, and a hoarse, mocking laugh echoed in his ears.
SETTING A SNARE.
Pickerel Pete did not feel overloaded with responsibility. Two dollars a day was a princely wage, but there were things he would not do even for that immense sum. He would try to stay with the boat for an hour, in spite of the owls and the queer crooning of the wind in the trees, but if he saw a "ha'nt," he'd resign his job, right then and there, and leave theSpriteto take care of herself. Anyhow, he had two dollars. The fact that his services had been paid for until afternoon of the following day did not enter seriously into his calculations.
"Wisht de screech-owls would stop dat 'ar screechin'," muttered the darky, "an' I wisht de win' would stop dat ar' groanin' in de trees. Dishyer's jest de time fer spookerous doin's, an' I'd radder be home in mah baid wif mah head kivered, so'st—— Golly, whut's dat?"
Something fluttered among the tree branches overhanging the water, farther along the creek. It may have been an owl, or some other bird, changing its roosting place, but Pete's fears magnified the cause into something connected with the "ha'nts."
Crouching in the boat's bottom, he stared through the darkness and held his breath. The fluttering had ceased and nothing else happened. As one uneventful minute followed another, Pete gradually put the clamps on his nerves.
"Ah dunno 'bout dat," he whispered. "Mebby dat floppin' noise didun' mean nuffin', en den, ag'in, mebby itmout. Hey, you, dar!" he added, lifting his voice.
The cry echoed across the creek, but the only answer was the echo.
"If yo's one ob dem gliderin' spooks," called Pete, "den you-all doan' want any truck wifme. Ah's on'y a po' li'l moke, en Ah ain't nevah done no ha'm tuh nobody. Ah's fibilus, occasion'ly, en now an' den Ah's tole a whopper, but dem yarns doan' amount tuh nuffin'."
The silence continued, save for the soughing of the wind and the "tu-whit, tu-whoo!" from the depths of the woods.
"Ah done got tuh do somethin' tuh pass de time," thought Pete. "Ah'll frow de iv'ries, dat's whut Ah'll do. Wonner where dar's a lantern?"
Pete remembered having seen a lantern in one of the lockers while he was helping Matt with the engine. After a little thought he located the lantern, and secured it. Then he recalled having seen a box of matches in the tool-chest, and he soon had the lantern going.
It's surprising what a soothing effect a light will have on a superstitious mind that dreads the dark. With the lantern on the stern thwart, Pete knelt in the boat's bottom and cast his dice again and again, becoming so careless of his "spookerous" surroundings that he almost forgot his fears.
The little white cubes dropped and rattled on the thwart, and Pete bent low to read the faces.
"Ah's got two dollahs," he muttered, surprised at thelucky combinations turning up for him, "en Ah wisht dar was some odder moke here tuh take er han' in dis game. Ah's havin' mo' luck, here, all by mahse'f, dan I evah——"
He straightened on his knees in sudden panic, then dropped his head down on the thwart and covered his face with his hands.
"Whut's dat?" he whimpered. "Whut's dat Ah hear? Hit sounded monsus lak er chain rattlin'."
But it wasn't a chain; it was a good, well-developed groan. It came from the darkness at the top of the bank and echoed shiveringly across the creek.
"Dat wasn't no screech-owl," murmured Pete, in stifled tones. "Golly! De ha'nts is comin' fo' me. Wisht Ah was out ob here! Oh, I wisht Ah was some place else where dar's folks, en buildin's, en 'lectric lights. Br-r-r!"
The groan was repeated. It was a hollow kind of groan, long drawn out, and given in the most approved ghostly style. Pete groaned on his own account, and collapsed in the bottom of the boat, floundering forward and trying to crawl into the motor and lose himself in the machinery.
While the wretched little darky lay in a palpitating heap under the steering wheel, a funereal voice was wafted toward him—a voice that made him gasp, and close his eyes, and shiver until he shook the boat.
"Who-o are you-u-u?" inquired the voice.
"Oh, lawsy! Oh, mah goodness!" fluttered Pete in tremulous, incoherent tones. "Ah's as good as daid! Ah's nevah gwine tuh git out ob dis alive! Der ha'nts has cotched me! Oh, if I c'u'd only git away dis once, Ah'll nevah brag no mo'! Ah'll nevah tell anodder whopper!"
"Who-o are you-u-u?" insisted the sepulchral voice from the darkness at the top of the bank.
"Ah's er moke," whimpered Pete, "jes' a moke. You-all go 'long an' nevah min' me. Ah ain't nevah done nuffin'—Pickerel Pete's a good l'il coon. Please, Marse Gose, go off some odder place en do yo' gliderin'. Oh, gee! Oh, golly!"
"Go 'way, go 'way, go 'way!" ordered the "ghost."
"Ah'll go, yassuh," chattered Pete, "on'y doan' yo' grab me as Ah run by. Dat's all. Yo' ain't layin' fo' tuh grab me, is yuh?"
"Go 'way, go 'way, go 'way!" insisted the spook, with hair-raising emphasis.
Pete got up slowly and cautiously in the boat. The lantern threw a weird reflection over him, but the most noticeable thing about the frightened little darky, just then, was the white of his eyes. He shook like a person with the ague, and nearly dropped into the water while stepping from the gunwale of the boat.
Begging the spook not to grab him, he floundered up the bank and darted into the timber as though the Old Nick was after him. His piteous wail was lost in a crashing of bushes, and finally even that sound died out.
A chuckling laugh echoed from the top of the bank, and a form disentangled itself from the shadows.
"Come on, Kinky," called a voice. "That little nigger was scared white. He'll not stop running until he gets clear to Madison. What kind of a spook do I make, eh?"
"Pretty raw," answered another voice, as a second form pushed out of the shadows and joined the first. "You can fool a superstitious, half-grown darky, Ross, but I wouldn't make a business of this ghost racket. What was the good of it, anyhow?"
"Well, that darky never came here alone in that boat."
"Well."
"Some one must have come with him. Maybe the boat's other passengers are the two kids we couldn't find in the cabin."
"I don't know how it could be, Ross, but mebby you're right. That's not a rowboat."
"Just what I was thinkin', Kinky. Let's go down and look her over. The darky was obliging enough to leave a lighted lantern for us."
The two men descended to the boat, and Ross picked up the lantern and swung it about him.
"It's a motor-boat, blamed if it ain't!" Kinky exclaimed.
"Right you are," chuckled Ross. "She must have come up from the town. What's she doin' here at this time o' night? Suspicious, that's what it is! I'll gamble heavy the boat has somethin' to do with the young fellers in that cabin."
"Well, like enough you're right," answered Kinky. "But what's that to us? We came up the Catfish in a boat, too, an' we'd better take to our oars an' go back to town huntin' for Big John. If he overhauled Motor Matt and got that money, we don't want to give him a chance to get away from us."
"We'll see tothat," grunted Ross decisively.
"It looked as though Big John was tryin' to sidetrack us when he wanted us to keep watch of that cabin to-night. What's the good of watchin' the cabin if he gets the money? What's the use of keeping track of the other two boys when King's the one we want?"
"Right again, Kinky. That brain of yours seems to be doin' some brilliant work to-night. Here, take a hack at this."
Ross turned and held out a bottle.
"If I take too many hacks at that, Ross," answered Kinky, "the brilliant brain work is liable to stop."
Nevertheless he seized the bottle and a prolonged gurgling followed. When he had finished, Ross took the bottle back and gave some attention to it himself.
"All I want," growled Ross, as he screwed the top back on the flask, "is to get a chance at this here Motor Matt."
"Big John has already had a chance at him," suggested Kinky.
"Will Big John do anythin' to even up with Motor Matt for the way we was treated in 'Frisco Bay?" flung back Ross. "Don't you never think it, Kinky. If Big John gets the money, he'll turn the cub loose to make some more trouble for us. I'm built along different lines, myself. I want revenge, with a big R. That's me."
"Oh, slush!" grumbled Kinky. "You ought to have left more of that stuff in the bottle.Yourbrain work's anythin' but brilliant."
"I mean what I say, anyhow," rapped out Ross.
Picking up the lantern, he went forward, crawled over the hood, and made a close examination of the forward part of the boat.
"Thunder!" he exclaimed.
"What've you found?" demanded Kinky.
"What was the name of that chug-boat the Chink won in 'Frisco, and that Motor Matt used in windin' us up?"
"Sprite."
"Well, wouldn't this knock you stiff? Say, Kinky, this here's theSprite."
"Go on!"
"There's the name, plain enough."
"Then it's anotherSprite. It's a common name, and the 'FriscoSpritecouldn't be here."
"It's the same boat, you take it from me. It looks the same, and by thunder itisthe same."
"I don't see how it got here."
"Nor I—but here she is, for all that. Let's burn her!"
"What for?"
"If it hadn't been for this boat we'd have been on the way to the Sandwich Islands by now. I'll feel a heap better if we burn the blame thing."
"Aw, be sensible, can't you. If——"
"Hist!"
Ross interrupted Kinky with the warning syllable; then, quickly, the lantern was extinguished, and Ross crept back into the rear of the launch.
"Listen!" he whispered; "some one's coming."
"Then we'd better hike!"
"Not on your life! Crowd up forward, there. I played the spook, a while ago, and now let's see how well I can play the rôle of the darky."
"But what——"
"Sh-h-h!"
Thus suddenly did Ross lay his snare. As Kinky crept forward, Ross crouched in the stern; then followed the brief colloquy between Matt and Ross, the latter imitating the voice of the negro.
The instant Motor Matt dropped into the boat the snare suddenly tightened.
ENEMIES TO BE FEARED.
As Matt fell his head struck against the gunwale of the boat. His senses did not leave him entirely, but he was stunned for a few moments and rendered incapable of doing anything in his own defense. Before he recovered sufficiently to struggle with his assailants the two men had found a rope and had lashed his hands.
"Now for his feet, Kinky," said Ross. "This is a haul I wasn't expectin', although we might have figured it out, I guess, if we'd had time to think things over."
Matt kicked out with his feet in a desperate attempt to overturn Kinky, and, perhaps, leap upright and jump ashore.
"He's a fighter, all right," snarled Ross. "Here, I'll hold him while you finish the job."
With hands bound and two men to secure his ankles, resistance was worse than useless. When the binding was done, and Matt was lying helpless, he had a chance to study the faces of his captors while Kinky was relighting the lantern.
Ross' talk had already given Matt an inkling of the two men's identity. The gleam from the lantern left no doubt about their being Big John's pals.
Matt was not surprised that the two rascals should be in that part of the country. They and Big John were birds of a feather, and it was quite natural that all three should flock together. What did surprise Matt, however, was the fact that Kinky and Ross should be in that particular place, and have laid their plans to capture him.
"Surprise party, eh?" queried Ross. "You weren't expectin' to meet a couple of old friends, eh, Motor Matt? Oh, you're not so much. You're cracked up pretty high, but I reckon you're not any brighter than the rest of us. Wonder if you've got ten thousand about you that we could borrow for a while?"
"You're after that money," said Matt, "and you're fooled. You won't get it, and neither will Big John. It has been in Mr. Lorry's hands ever since noon. You didn't think I'd bring ten thousand dollars back with me in cash, did you? The money was in the form of a draft, payable to Mr. Lorry, and it wouldn't have benefited you or Big John any if you had stolen it."
"That's luck for old Lorry, then," answered Ross, pushing his hand into Matt's pockets. "Here's a roll," he added, drawing some bills out of Matt's vest. "It's hardly big enough for the ten thousand, but I reckon we'll have to be satisfied with what we can get."
"If you take that," said Matt, "you'll be in trouble with the law before you're many hours older. So far as San Francisco is concerned, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones; but if you take my money I'll do everything I can to have you caught."
Kinky seemed nervous. Ross, however, was reckless and in an evil temper.
"We'llnotget ourselves into trouble," he flared. "By the time we're through with you, my hearty, there won't be anybody to make us trouble."
Ross brought out his flask again and helped himself liberally to its contents.
"Here," he said, extending the flask toward Kinky.
"I guess I've had enough," demurred Kinky.
"Take it, you fool!" cried Ross; "you'll need it before we're done with this night's work."
Not until that moment did Motor Matt realize that herewere two enemies who were seriously to be feared. He had thought, when he recognized his captors, that they had merely made a prisoner of him in the hope of securing the ten thousand dollars, but now he realized that there was something more villainous, perhaps more murderous, back of their scheming.
Liquor arouses the evil passions of men and makes them ripe for deeds they would not think of committing when in their sober senses. Kinky and Ross were partly intoxicated. Kinky was the less desperate of the two villains, mainly because he was the more cowardly.
Matt hardened himself to face whatever might be coming.
"You'd better think well about this, Ross," said he. "All you've got to do to keep clear of the law is to return my money, set me at liberty, and take yourselves off. I'll forget what you've done, and what happened in San Francisco Bay——"
"That's more than we'll do, you young cub," scowled Ross. "You hadn't any notion I followed you all the way from 'Frisco, on the same train, had you? You didn't know I got off the train at Waunakee, when you got off, and that I trailed you and your two friends to that cabin in the woods, eh? And I don't believe, when you and your pards were talking in that cabin, that you had any notion I was hanging around and listening. But I was. I knew one of you was to go into town this morning with the money for old Lorry, so it was me that put Big John wise and had him waiting for you on the road. But do you think I rigged myself out in different clothes and followed you clear from 'Frisco just in the hope of getting that money? You're wrong if you do think that. I was after something else—and that was toplay even. It's a habit of mine always to settle my accounts. Big John works differently—but I'm not responsible for what he does, or doesn't do. When I lay out a course and take the bit in my teeth, nothing can stop me."
There was a short silence.
"But, I say, Ross," began Kinky in faint protest, "you don't intend to——"
"Wait till I ask you to talk," cut in Ross. "You can bobble more in your conversation than any man I ever knew."
"Do you know where my two friends are?" queried Matt. "You know who I mean—young Lorry and McGlory."
"We don't know where they are. I don't object to telling you if that will make you any easier in your mind."
"Where's the colored boy that was here with the boat?"
"I played spook and scared him out. He's on the way to Madison, and is hitting only the high places. Is this the oldSpriteyou used in 'Frisco Bay?"
"Yes."
"Glad to know it. She'll go up in smoke before we're done with her."
Ross' veiled hints of what he was going to do did not bother Matt very much. He had a hearty contempt for a boaster—even a desperate boaster of Ross' stamp.
The scoundrel was in a communicative mood, and many points which had been dark to Matt were being cleared away.
"What has Big John done," Matt asked, "to get Mr. Lorry down on me?"
Ross laughed huskily.
"How do I know?" he answered. "Big John is about as sly as they make 'em. I didn't know he'd done anything to get Lorry down on you—didn't think he'd have the nerve to go near Lorry. You got away from that pal of ours?"
"Yes."
"Then I wish John was here with us. He's probably as mad as a hornet over losing that money, and would make a better stand-by than Kinky."
"I never go back on a pal," expanded Kinky, "but I think a pal ought to be sensible and not kick up too big a row for his own good."
"You'll find the row plenty big enough if you go too far," warned Matt, speaking for Kinky's especial benefit.
Kinky stirred uneasily.
"It's a case," declared Ross, "where we've got to go as far as we can. That's what'll make it safe for us. Kinky and me have been loafing in the woods all day. We were not to report to Big John until to-night. It's safer for us, you understand, to get together at night than at any other time."
Matt had been working desperately at the cord that bound his hands. The cord was drawn tight and firmly knotted, and his efforts had not met with much success.
Ross suddenly detected him in his work, and, with an oath, jerked him over and looked at the rope.
"That's enough of that," he said sternly. "Suppose you do get rid of the rope, how'll it help you? You lay still and be quiet, that's your cue."
"What are we going to do, Ross?" inquired Kinky nervously.
"You're going up on the bank and cast off the painter," returned Ross. "I don't think you're any too steady on your feet, so be careful."
"What do you want me to cast off the painter for? We've got a boat of our own, and we don't need this."
"I'm engineerin' this deal, Kinky," said Ross sharply. "Do as I say, or else take to the woods and let me do it alone."
Kinky got up and staggered ashore. Although he worked awkwardly, yet he finally succeeded in releasing the painter and throwing the rope aboard. Then he scrambled back into the boat himself.
Ross, meanwhile, had been starting the engine. He proceeded in a way that proved he had some knowledge of motors.
Turning theSprite, Ross sent her slowly toward the mouth of the creek, peering sharply ahead as they moved through the water.
"There she is," muttered Ross, shutting off the power.
As theSpritecame to a halt, Ross reached over the side and caught the gunwale of another boat.
"We'll tow our boat behind, Kinky," announced Ross. "Climb into her and make sure the oars are safe inboard, then fasten her painter to the stern of theSprite."
This rather difficult operation was safely accomplished, and then, with the rowboat in tow, the launch glided out of the creek into the Catfish, and down the Catfish toward Fourth Lake.
How was that voyage to end for Motor Matt?
BETWEEN FIRE AND WATER.
Matt's position in the boat enabled him to watch one dark bank of the river as they glided down toward the lake. He was listening and looking for some sign of life on the bank. Had he seen any one, a shout would quickly have apprised the person of the prisoner's predicament.
But Matt saw no one. Steadily theSpriteglided onward—steadily, but covering so crooked a course that Matt wondered they did not drive into the bank on one side or the other.
The lake was reached. The storm promised by the late afternoon was slow in coming. The wind was no higher than it had been, two or three hours before, but the waves were beating sullenly on the rocks as if in warning of what was to come.
Far across the lake Matt could see the glare of city lights. Because of his position in the boat, the other shore of the lake was not visible to him.
He was looking for other boats, but there were very few boats on the lake at the time. He saw one moving light, however, and essayed a lusty call for help.
Ross swore savagely.
"Clap a hand over that cub's mouth!" he snapped.
At the same instant he jerked one hand from the wheel, caught up the lantern, and dropped it overboard.
Kinky, meanwhile, had forced his hands over Matt's lips.
The light Matt had seen had shifted its position, and was gliding toward theSprite.
"Hello, there!" called a voice from the dark.
"Hello, yourself," flung back Ross.
"Did you hail us?"
"No."
"I thought some one yelled. What became of your light?"
"A lubber here with me knocked it overboard."
"Well, you'd better get out another. If you take my advice, you won't stay out long, either. There's nasty weather coming, and we're making for our berth over at the asylum."
Ross allowed this warning to go unanswered. The light of the other boat dwindled away and vanished in the gloom.
"This is far enough, I reckon," Ross remarked, halting theSprite. "You can leave him alone now, Kinky," he added. "He could yell till he's black in the face and no one would hear him; but, if he knows what's good for him, he won't whoop it up while we're close to him. Pull the rowboat up alongside, Kinky."
Ross lifted the hood and leaned down into the space reserved for the motor and the gasoline tanks.
"Confound it!" he exclaimed, lifting himself erect, "I wish I had that lantern now."
He continued to grumble and work around in the bow of the boat. At last he finished his labor, whatever it was, and turned to Kinky.
The latter was holding the rowboat alongside the launch. The task was none too easy, as the swell was bumping the boats together and then forcing them apart.
"What am I to do, Ross?" asked Kinky. "I can't hang on here much longer."
"Get into the rowboat and take the oars," ordered Ross.
"Ain't you going along with me?"
"Sure, when I get through."
"What's your game?"
"Never you mind," was the angry retort. "It's my game, from now on, and you'll watch and do as you're told. Get into the boat and hold her close to theSpritewith the oars. When I want you I'll let you know. Mind your eye when you change or you'll find yourself at the bottom of the lake."
Kinky made three attempts to get from one boat into the other. At the last attempt he came near swamping the rowboat, and when he drew back and clung panting to the side of theSpritethe rowboat had got away from him.
Ross shouted his maledictions.
"What can you expect of a fellow workin' like this in the dark?" grunted Kinky. "I ain't no sailor, anyway."
"You got feet and hands, haven't you? Then why don't you use 'em?"
With this retort, Ross started the motor and laid theSpritealongside the rowboat once more.
"Now," he ordered, "try it again, Kinky. If you get a spill you'll stay in the lake for all of me."
Kinky's next effort was more successful. He had a narrow escape, but he finally plumped down into the bottom of the rowboat, righted himself unsteadily, and got on the 'midships thwart. A moment more and he had shipped the oars.
"Now what?" he demanded.
His own temper was beginning to rise at the rough, and perhaps unnecessary, work he had been made to do.
Ross had again switched off the power of the motor and the launch was rolling in the waves.
"Wait, and I'll tell you," answered Ross.
He was lashing the steering wheel with a piece of rope. Kinky could not see what he was doing, or he would probably have ventured some remarks. Matt, however, was able to follow the scoundrel's movements, and a vague alarm ran through him.
"What are you up to, Ross?" asked Matt sternly.
Ross snarled at him, but did not make any response that could be understood.
"I suppose you could get at this wheel, bound as you are," muttered Ross, turning around, at last, and facing Matt. "But I'll fix that," he added with a brutal laugh.
Making his way to where Matt was lying, he caught him by the shoulders and dragged him roughly forward.
"What are you doing this for?" demanded Matt.
Ross was strong, and, without deigning a reply, he heaved the helpless youth up onto the hood. Bound as he was, Matt's position was precarious in the extreme.
"I never thought you were such a scoundrel, Ross," Matt said quietly. "It can't be you're going to leave me like this."
"You wait till I get through," was the fierce answer.
By craning his head around, Matt could see Ross pick up a pile of waste. From the pungent odor of gasoline which assailed Matt's nostrils he knew that the waste had been soaked in the inflammable stuff.
Ross carried the waste back into the stern of the boat.
"You like motors, King," called Ross, "and I'm going to give you such a ride on a motor-boat as you never had before. I hope you'll enjoy it."
"For the last time, Ross," called Matt, horribly conscious of the trend the scoundrel's work was taking, "I ask you to think of what you are doing."
"I've thought of it all I'm going to. It's a fine plan, and I'm going to carry it right through to a finish."
Ross turned to the rowboat, which Kinky was keeping close to theSprite.
"Come alongside, Kinky," Ross called. "I'm about ready to be taken off."
"What have you been doin', Ross?" demanded Kinky, pulling the other boat closer.
Matt felt, at that moment, as though Kinky was his only hope.
"He's got me tied here on the hood, Kinky," Matt called, "and he's going to fire the boat! If you let him keep on, you'll be equally guilty with him, and the law will sooner or later take care of you both."
"Let him talk!" exclaimed Ross. "Much good it'll do him. A little more to the left, Kinky."
The man in the rowboat had turned to look.
"Is that him on that forward deck, Ross?" asked Kinky.
"That's where I put him."
"Blazes! Why, he's liable to roll off into the water and be drowned. What did you put him there for?"
"I told you I was attendin' to this," retorted Ross. "Get that boat alongside here, and be quick about it."
"But I'm not goin' to stand for any——"
"You're going to do as I tell you. Get alongside."
Kinky, unfortunately for Matt, had the weaker will of the two. He was plainly afraid of Ross, and the latter could bullyrag him into doing anything.
As the rowboat came up, Ross leaned over and grabbed the painter. Securing the end of it to the driver's seat of the launch, he stepped back into the stern, struck a match, and dropped it into the heap of waste.
A fire leaped upward instantly, and a yell of consternation broke from Kinky.
"Ross, you're mad! You want to make a swinging job of this for both of us, I guess. Put out that blaze or I'll put it out myself."
Ross did not reply. Hastening forward again, he started the motor, and theSpritebegan driving ahead, hauling the rowboat with it.
"This course, Motor Matt," said Ross, "will carry you direct to Maple Bluff. I hope you'll have a comfortable landing. Good-by, and good luck to you! Have I paid my debts? Think it over."
Whirling swiftly, Ross clambered into the rowboat.
"I'll not stand for this!" yelled Kinky. "This may be your idea of paying your debts, but——"
Ross pushed Kinky backward, sending him sprawling across the 'midships thwart.
"Get up and take the oars," he cried. "Pal of mine though you are, if you try to make me any more trouble something will happen to you. I've got the bit in my teeth, I tell you, and I'll settle for Motor Matt as I think best."
Ross leaned forward and slashed the blade of his pocketknife through the painter, and a hoarse laugh echoed in Motor Matt's ears as the burning launch leaped away through the thick shadows.
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 theSpritelighted 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 theSpriteto 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 theSpriteto 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 theSprite.
"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 littleSpriterocked 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 oldSpriteis 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 thiswasn'ta tight one. But see here, once, Matt. You called this boat theSprite."
"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 sameSprite."
"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. Probablyhe 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 theSpritewas pitching like an unruly broncho.
"We'll have to get out of this," said Lorry, as the skiff alongside smashed against theSprite'sbulwarks 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 theSpritesteadily 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.
HOW FATE THREW THE DICE.
There was a rough but comfortable sitting room in one end of the boathouse. Lorry, who was familiar with the place, left Matt and McGlory near the door which they had forced open, and groped his way to the sitting room, where he lighted a tin lamp.
There was a smell of stale cigarette smoke in the room, and the walls were papered with pictures of prize fighters, sailboats, race horses, and "footlight favorites," all cut from newspapers and magazines. This, and the acrid odor of cigarettes, attested sufficiently the taste of the owner of the boathouse.
There were chairs enough to seat the three boys comfortably.
"Somebody has been here, pards," declared McGlory, "and not so very long ago, either."
"He's a Sherlock Holmes, all right," grinned Lorry. "How do you suppose he knew that, Motor Matt?"
"Oh, go on!" growled the cowboy. "Your friend George is a cigarette fiend. Why do you reckon the windows were draped like that?"
There were two small windows in the sitting room, and each was covered with a double thickness of canvas, battened down on all sides.
"Give it up," said Lorry. "Ollie must have been having a game of cards here with some of the boys, and probably he didn't want anybody looking in."
"Ollie?" murmured Matt, startled, suddenly remembering that, at the time of the attempted robbery on the Waunakee road, Big John had addressed his youthful companion as "Ollie."
"Yes, Ollie Merton," answered Lorry; "he's the fellow who owns this place."
"What sort of looking fellow is he?"
"Why, he's about my build, rather dark, and with a face that's not much of a recommendation; but Ollie's been a good friend of mine, just the same."
Matt was convinced that the Ollie he had met on the Waunakee road, under such evil conditions, was the same Ollie who had papered that rude little sitting room—and had left behind him the reek of his cigarettes.
"What are you asking about Ollie for?" inquired Lorry curiously.
"We'll get to that in a few minutes," said Matt. "Just now I want to hear how you fellows came to leave the cabin on the creek, and what sort of a coincidence it was that enabled you to come to my rescue, out there on the lake."
"I reckon we can explain that a heap easier than you can explain how you came to be lashed hand and foot and jammed between the thwart and the engine of a burning boat," returned McGlory. "You didn't get back to the cabin, that was one of the things that bothered George and me, and we couldn't savvy the why of it; then, all at once, we spotted our old friends, Ross and Kinky, standing among the oaks and piping off the cabin.Wasit a jolt? Say, speak to me about that. 'That means trouble,' said George, and I allowed that he had rung the bell.
"There we'd been congratulatin' ourselves that no one knew of the hang-out, when along comes those 'Frisco gents, loafing in the scrub and taking the sizing of our wickiup. Having made up our minds that the appearance of Ross and Kinky spelled trouble with a big T, George and me got to guessing that those two lads had somehow interfered with your getting back to the cabin, Matt.
"'We'll duck out of this, George,' says I, 'and you can bet your moccasins onthat. And when we duck,' I says further, 'we'll take the luggage and the grub along with us.'
"'But what about Matt?' says George. 'He's trying to do something for me, in Madison, and it looks kind of rough to scatter when maybe he'll whistle for this siding even if he is somewhat behind his running time. Didn't you tell me that Motor Matt usually does what he says he'll do?'
"You must admit, Matt, that this cousin of mine is improving a whole lot or he'd never have thought of that. Up to now, he's been so busy taking care of Number One that he hasn't had any consideration for the rest of the human race. But I explains to him like this:
"'Georgie, we're makin' a change of base. That's all. When we dodge those tinhorns, and pile our traps in another part of the woods, we'll sneak back here on the q. t. and watch for Matt. Like as not we can head him off on the Waunakee road before he reaches the bridge over the creek.'
"George thought that would be all right, so we get our plunder together, sneak out of the cabin, drop over the edge of the creek bank, crawl a mile downstream, and sashay right into the woods. I don't know whether you'll believe it or not—things like that happen mostly in story books—but we find the neatest cave you ever crawled into right on the banks of the Catfish. George says it's a second edition of Black Hawk's cave. Well, say, after we get the bats out of that hole in the rock, we are almost as snug as we are here, this minute. Sufferin' Niagara, hear it pour!"
"Never mind the rain, Joe," said Matt. "Your talk is mighty exciting. Go on with it."
"Of course," proceeded McGlory, "we couldn't enjoy our cave while you were due to arrive at the cabin any minute and drop into the hands of Ross and Kinky. I reckon it was about eight o'clock into dewfall when George and me crawled out of that hole and started to make a short cut for the Waunakee road. Then, right in the middle of the dark, we heard somethin' coming our way just a-tearin'. George guessed bears and I guessed Injuns; but, no, we were both fooled. It was a little negro—George struck a match and got his color a minute after him and me had collided and I had flopped him on his back and was holding him down. Then——"
"Pickerel Pete!" exclaimed Matt.
"That's a guess for your life. Sure, pard, it was Pickerel Pete, and a scared Pickerel he was, at that. He thought George and me was a pair of 'ha'nts,' whatever they are; but George knew him, and he braced up some when he made sure that we were perfectly human.
"Then—speak to me about what that little ebony chap told us! Motor Matt had hired him for two plunks a day—you're getting reckless with your money, pard—and he had piloted Motor Matt from Third Lake to Fourth, and from Fourth up the Catfish to WhiskyCreek. Motor Matt had left the boat tied up there, with Blackberry on guard, and gone on afoot up the creek. Then spooks arrived, ordered Pete to duck, and he had started for home like a singed cat. He was on his way when he ran into us.
"Well, George and me was all crinkled up with a scare. Matt's gone on to the cabin, we figure it out, and he's dropped into the hands of Ross and Kinky. We make a run for the cabin. No one there, not even Ross and Kinky. But there's a candle still burnin' on the corner shelf.
"Was it Motor Matt who lit that candle, we asked ourselves, or Big John's pals? Of course we couldn't tell that, but we allowed it was probably Matt who had struck a light. Then it was us for the mouth of the creek to see what was going on at the launch.
"I forgot to tell you, pard, that George and I had found a skiff, while we were fooling around the creek bank, waiting for you to get back. The skiff pleased me—I never saw a boat yet that didn't—and I suggested to George that we paddle down the creek in the skiff. That would save climbing fences and blundering around in the dark. Well, we took the skiff. It didn't draw much more'n a drink of water, and, although the creek is lower than usual at this time of year, according to George, we got down it all right. Just as we got within hailing distance of the launch, we heard the chug of an engine, and some one calling from the boat to some one else on the bank. We'd found Ross and Kinky—their voices give 'em away; and from what they said later we also knew that we'd foundyou.
"George and I were up a tree for fair, then. Ross and Kinky were 'heeled'—we didn't have to guess any about that—while all I had was a pocketknife, and all George had was a scarfpin.
"'Well,' says George, 'I'm not going to leave those tinhorns to do what they please with Matt.' Surprisin', eh, the way this cousin of mine is beginnin' to act? He was as nervy as a Ute buck with an overload of tizwin. I asks George what he thinks we can do against two men with a pair of hardware hornets that sting six times apiece. George didn't know, but allowed we'd better drop down the creek and get a closer view.
"By the time we got down to where the launch was she had moved on and stopped again. When she moved on once more, something was trailing behind her. It was so dark we couldn't see what the thing was very plain, but after some sort of a while we made out that it was a boat. Well, how we ever did it I don't know, but George—it was George, mind you—made our chain painter fast to the stern of the trailing rowboat—and that's the sort of procession we made down the Catfish." McGlory threw back his head and laughed till he shook. "First, the launch," he went on; "then the rowboat, then George, and me, and the skiff. Sufferin' side-wheelers! Why, I nearly gave the snap away enjoying it."
"Great spark plugs!" muttered Matt. "When we went down the Catfish, I was watching the bank, hoping to see some one I could call to. And there were you and George behind us all the time! I wish Ross and Kinky knew about that."
"It was too much fun to last, pard," continued McGlory, sobering a little. "When we got out into the lake the heavier swell made the chain break loose from the rowboat, and we had to follow with the oars, which was slow work. We were a long ways off when you spoke that other launch; and when you started like a streak of fire for the northwest end of the lake, we were still so far off that we didn't think we could reach you in time to do you any good. But we broke our backs at the oars, and managed to make it. You know the rest."
"Fine!" exclaimed Matt admiringly. "Say, you fellows are pards worth having. What became of Pickerel Pete?"
"Bother him!" put in George. "We didn't have any time to fool with the little moke after we heard what he had to tell us about you."
"He kept on toward town, burnin' the air," said McGlory.
"I think," said Matt reflectively, "that this cave of yours would be a safer place for us than this boathouse."
"Safer," returned the cowboy, "but it hasn't got any chairs and nothing to make a light with. Hear the rain, once! Gee,compadres, I wouldn't move from here to the cave, through all that water, for a bushel of double eagles."
"Why is the cave safer?" asked Lorry.
"Because this Ollie Merton isn't such a friend of yours as you think," said Matt.
George Lorry stiffened in the old, arrogant way.
"I guess I know my friends," he answered frigidly.
"Listen," went on Matt. "When I left the cabin and started along the Waunakee road, some one in the bushes threw a riata at me. It was Big John threw the rope, and along with Big John was this Ollie Merton. They were after that ten thousand dollars, but I played a trick on them and got away with the draft. It was your sister, George, that helped me get away."
"What!" exclaimed George; "not Ethel?"
"Yes. She was on the Waunakee road with her motor car——"
George scowled.
"The governor would put twenty-five hundred in a runabout for sis," he growled, "and wouldn't scrip up when I wanted a motor boat. Is that right? Is——"
Voices were heard outside, accompanying a slushy crunch of wet gravel. Matt leaped for the light and blew it out.
"Not a word!" he whispered. "That must be Ollie Merton, and we don't want him to see us. There's an overturned catboat—get under it."
Lorry tried to protest, but Matt caught him by the arm and hustled him toward the overturned boat. The boat had been lying under the boys' eyes during their talk. Barely had they secreted themselves when the door opened and two persons walked in, followed by a whirling gust of rain.
"Whoosh!" called a familiar voice, "I'm glad to get out of that, Ollie."
"Big John!" whispered Matt in Lorry's ear. "He's come here with Merton. Keep quiet, now, and listen."