First, he placed the china bowl on the bowlder; next, he brought from the breast of his blouse a camel's-hair brush, and half a dozen strips of rice paper; then, on each strip of paper, he began painting potent prayers.
Having finished his peculiar labors, he threw the little bowl into the lake, hid the slips of rice paper under the bowlder, put the brush in his pocket, and sneaked back to Camp Traquair, arriving just in time for supper.
That night Matt went to bed early, and McGlory soon followed him. The June Bug, drawn up to the left of the tent, looked like a ghost in the gathering dusk. Around her were the four armed and alert guards.
Then, again, Ping stole away to the bowlder. On its flat top he started a little fire of dried twigs, and one by one he dropped the slips of rice paper into the blaze.
When the last prayer was consumed, and the fire had died down to a little heap of white ashes, Ping felt that he had done everything possible to insure Motor Matt's safety and success.
It was nearly midnight when he stole back toward Camp Traquair. He saw a little glow of light in the vicinity of the aëroplane, and he wondered what it could be. Creeping forward, he investigated, and laughed at himself for his fears.
The guards had secured a lantern, and, in its light, they were smoking and playing cards on a blanket.
With the idea of curling up under one of the wings of the June Bug and passing the night near the machine, Ping made a wide detour around the soldiers, and started toward the aëroplane from the other side.
Suddenly his attention was arrested by a crawling form moving back and forth, now showing darkly against the white canvas of the planes, and now vanishing in the deeper shadow under them.
Presently he heard a queer, rasping note, as of a file biting into steel. In a second he knew what was going on.