"Look out behind ye!" whispered Landers hoarsely. "Big John is——"
McGlory turned. As he did so, Landers fell off the house boat and into the cockpit of the San Bruno.
"Ain't I easy?" grumbled McGlory, marking a half run across the deck in the direction of the launch. "No," he muttered, "I won't do that, either. I've got the ten thousand plunks belongin' to Uncle Dan, and I guess I'll freeze onto 'em. Matt needs me, I reckon. With the grip in one hand and George's pepper box in the other, I'll walk through the cabin and see what I can do for this new pard of mine."
The rear door of the cabin was unlocked. McGlory passed through it and groped his way in the dark to the other door.
He had barely reached the door when another commotion assailed his ears, accompanied by loud voices. The voices were so loud, in fact, that the cowboy could hear distinctly all that was said.
Big John had just discovered the loss of the satchel, and a violent scene was threatening. Then came the popping of the motor, and the rush to get out of the cabin and pursue Landers.
McGlory, beginning to understand what had happened and how the thieves had been fooled, leaned against the wall of the cabin and sputtered with merriment.
"Speak to me about luck, will you?" he gasped. "This is once, anyhow, that I've got the winning number. I reckon it's because I'm hooked up with Motor Matt."
He tried the bulkhead door, but found it locked. With a sudden thought, he returned to the other door, took the key he found there from the lock and tried it in the lock of the bulkhead door. It worked like a charm, and McGlory, satchel in one hand and revolver in the other, pushed into the lighted room.
At the very least, he was expecting to find Motor Matt on the floor, tied hand and foot. McGlory's astonishment was great, therefore, when he discovered that Matt was not in the room. A form stood just outside the door, on the forward deck, vaguely outlined in the darkness.