"Great spark plugs!" muttered Matt, "that's the other boat."
"She's going north!" exclaimed McGlory.
"Which makes it easy for us to pick up her trail and follow. If she had gone south, she might have got away from us."
"She's rippin' along like an express train," murmured the cowboy, watching the light vanish around the end of the pier.
"She's not speedy enough to leave the Sprite behind," exulted Matt, his nerves quivering in unison with the little tremors the humming cylinders sent through the boat.
"If those tinhorns see us, pard——"
"They won't. We're not carrying any lights, and I'm surprised to see them with one."
"Mebby they can hear us if they can't see us."
"We'll have to drop behind far enough so they won't hear us. Their own boat makes twice as much noise as the Sprite, and that will drown the throb of our exhaust and the whir of the cylinders."
Just then the Sprite dashed out of the black maw of the slip, wheeled in a foamy arc and turned her nose northward. There were many lights in the bay—red and green side lamps and white masthead lights, and others, but Matt was not confused. The white gleam straight to northward was the one he knew he should follow.