[CHAPTER X.]
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.
Small, and seemingly trifling, events sometimes pave the way for vital undertakings. The performance on the coteau, in which the Tin Cup men had so prominently figured, had left the Comet equipped with a forty-foot riata. On the flight to the Missouri Matt had tried to untie the rope and drop it from the machine. In this he had failed—a very fortunate circumstance for the dripping young man on the bank. But for that trailing rope, Matt would never have been able to effect a rescue.
"It may be," said the young man, "that you have only pulled me out of the river to give me into the hands of the Tin Cup outfit."
"I have already told you," returned Matt, "that I have nothing to do with the Tin Cup outfit."
"Why were you chasing me in that air ship, then?"
"I wasn't chasing you. You had a guilty conscience, and if a man had been coming this way on an elephant you would have thought he was after you."
The other was silent for a space, surveying Matt furtively and, apparently, trying to guess his business.
"You knew about that work in the Tin Cup bunk house, last night," said he tentatively.