"What's the use o' botherin' with him? The thing to do is to cut out o' this an' leave King in the swamp."
"I reckon Brady'd do that, if it wasn't for the bag of loot King seems to have taken along with him."
Both men had thrown off their hats, and Grove was nursing a number of scratches on his face and hands.
"We had a rough time of it," said he, "an' the old man sent me back to find out if any of the rest had had any success. If King had been found, I was to fire a signal-shot with one of the rifles."
"Hang the luck, anyhow!" snorted Needham. "It was the worst thing Brady ever done when he tangled up with King. The lad has a will of his own, an' I knew well enough he'd never take hold an' help us out runnin' the motor."
"King has got more backbone than any fellow of his age I ever saw, and that's a fact. The girl must have helped him. And that's another place where Brady has been lame, all along. He ought to have sent the girl away, somewhere. She hasn't got any business hanging out with a gang like this."
While Matt had been watching and listening, he had been turning over several plans in his mind. Here was a chance, albeit a desperate one, for getting hold of the air-ship.
He turned to the girl.
"Helen," he whispered, "I'm going to see if I can't capture the Hawk."
"You can't," she returned, fearfully. "Grove and Needham are armed and—and they'll shoot."