"No savvy hunch," groaned Ping. "Let's findee place to makee sit in shade. Heap tired."
"We'll sit in the shade and rest and enjoy ourselves after we find Matt. Keep a-moving, Ping, keep a-moving."
A pass between two hills brought them out into the creek bottom again. The sun was getting low in the west, but it was still uncomfortably warm, and the shade of the cottonwood trees was refreshing. Ping tottered along with his eyes on McGlory's heels. Suddenly the cowboy stopped and whirled around.
"Look!" he murmured, pointing.
The Chinaman swerved his weary eyes in the direction indicated and saw the sod shack.
"Hoop-a-la!" he exclaimed.
"I hear voices in there," whispered McGlory, "and I'll bet Pard Matt's busy laying down the law to Newt Prebbles. Let's not interrupt, but slip carefully up to the door and get the lay of the land before we butt in."
Ping was for getting to a place of comfort and refreshment in the shortest possible time; but, as usual, he deferred to the superior wisdom of the cowboy.
Silently they stole toward the open door of the hut. Through the opening there came to them the sound of a voice. It was a strange voice, and the words were not distinguishable.
While they were still some distance from the door, the voice was blotted out by the impact of a blow; and immediately there came a crash as of something being overturned.