While they were climbing the slope from the railroad station to their hotel, glad of the prospect of securing a little much-needed rest, only a few chance remarks by McGlory prevented them from having an encounter with Grattan, Pardo, and Bunce, who were lurking beside the walk. And at that same moment the faithless Sam Wing was engineering his stealthy theft in the darkened passenger coach.
So stirring events were forming, all unheeded by the boys.
Upon reaching the hotel they proceeded immediately to the room which they occupied, hastily disrobed, and crept into their respective beds. In less than five minutes the room was resounding with McGlory's snores. Matt remained awake long enough to review the events of the day and to congratulate himself that he and his cowboy pard were finally rid of the "hoodoo" gem and the "hoodoo" Chinaman who had been looking for it. Then the king of the motor boys himself fell asleep.
It was McGlory's voice that aroused Matt.
"Sufferin' thunderbolts!" Matt awoke with a start and turned his eyes toward the other side of the room. The cowboy was sitting up in bed. "Talk about your shocking times, pard," he went on, "why, I've been jumping from one shock into another ever since I hit this mattress. Thought I was chased by a blind idol, twenty feet high, and sometimes that idol looked like Grattan, sometimes it was a dead ringer for Tsan Ti, and sometimes it was its own wabble-jawed, horrible self. Woosh! And listen"—McGlory's eyes grew wide and he became very serious—"the idol that chased me had red hair!"
"What difference does that make, Joe?" inquired Matt, observing that the sun was high and forthwith tumbling out of bed.
"What difference does it make!" gasped McGlory. "Speak to me about that! Don't you know Matt, that whenever you dream about a person with red hair, trouble's on the pike and you've got up your little red flag?"
"Oh, gammon!" grunted Matt. "Pile out and get into your clothes, Joe. We're taking the eleven a. m. boat for the big town, and we haven't any too much time to make our 'twilight,' help ourselves to a late breakfast, and amble down to the landing."
"Hooray!" cried McGlory, forgetting his dream in the prospect called up by his chum's words. "We're going to have the time of our lives in New York, pard! All I hope is that nothing gets between us and that eleven a. m. boat. Seems like we never make a start for down the river but Johnny Hardluck comes along, jolts us with an uppercut, and faces us the wrong way. Look here, once."
"Well?"