"Ah dunno as yo' can do nuffin' fo' me, boss," answered Neb. "Ah reckons yo's done about all fo' dis moke dat he can expec'. Yo' done got Gin'ral Jackson back fo' me, an' dat odder feller found his bicycle, too. Ah 'lows yo' must hab been in er hurry, 'case yo' didn't wait fo' me to tell yo' Ah was obliged fo' whut yo' done. Lucky Ah seed yo' while Ah was passin' Mars Boggs' place. Close tuh where dat white boy found his bicycle dar was somefin' right on de aidge o' de bridge. Ah gaddered it in, en Ah thought mebby yo' was de one whut drapped hit. Ah was wonderin' en mah ole head how Ah was gwine tuh diskibber whedder what Ah found belonged tuh you—en heah, right when Ah was gittin' clost tuh home, Ah done sees yuh! Ain't dat fine? Somefin' strodinary 'bout dat."
A faint hope was rising in Motor Matt's breast, but it was very faint. The foundation of it was almost too preposterous for belief.
"What did you find, Neb?" he asked.
"Ah don't know whedder hit amounts to nuffin' er not, but Ah reckons yo' kin tell."
Thereupon Neb shoved one hand into a pocket of his tattered coat and brought out, mixed in his yellow palm with two nails, a fishline, and a piece of chewing tobacco——
The Eye of Buddha!
It was almost sunset, and the early shadows were beginning to fly over the eastern borders of the Catskills, but there was enough light to strike sparkling crimson gleams from the fateful gem that lay in the old darky's hand.
"Does dat 'ar thing b'long tuh yo', boss?" said Neb Hogan.
"Hold it just that way for a minute, Neb," returned Matt.
Then quickly he slipped the cords from the mandarin's wrists.