In less than half an hour the old clerk emerged from the room, in a comfortable condition outside and in. The only thing about him that was at all damp was a sheet of folded paper which he carried in his hand.
"We had to swim, just about, from Minnewaukon over here," muttered Prebbles, as he lowered himself into a chair. "You're mighty good to an old man, Motor Matt, you and your friends."
"When did you leave Jamestown?" asked Matt.
"This morning."
"Then it was raining hard when you got off the train at Minnewaukon!"
"Raining pitchforks!"
"Why didn't you wait in the town until the rain was over?"
"There wasn't time," and the shake in Prebbles' high-pitched voice told of his growing excitement. "I just had to get here, that's all. What I've got to say, Motor Matt," he added, with an anxious look at Cameron and McGlory, "is—is mighty important."
"Perhaps we'd better go, then," said Cameron, with a look at the cowboy.
"Wait a minute," interposed Matt. "Has what you've got to say anything to do with Murgatroyd?"