[CHAPTER III.]
THE GLASS BALLS.
Turning the trick for Tsan Ti—as McGlory had termed it—was destined to entangle the motor boys in a whirl of the most astounding events; and these events, as novel as they were mysterious, followed each other like the reports of a Gatling gun.
The journey to Albany, and down the river to Catskill Landing, and thence by motor cycle part way up the mountain, had been monotonous; but from the moment the mandarin and the bicycle went sprawling into the air over the tree root, and the lads had made the Chinaman's acquaintance, Fate began whirling the wheel of amazing events.
Matt and McGlory had had no time to discuss the weird tale recounted for their benefit by the mandarin. There was no opportunity to view the theft of the Eye of Buddha from any angle save that offered by the philosophical Tsan Ti. No sooner had the ostensible facts connected with the stolen ruby been retailed, than one of the thieves flashed down the mountain road, leaving the boys no choice but to fling away after him.
The two motor cycles had absolutely no chance to go wrong on that downhill trail. Had either motor "bucked," the weight of the heavy machine would have hurled its rider onward in a breakneck coast toward the foot of the hill.
"Sufferin' streaks!" cried the cowboy. "If we were to meet anybody coming up, there'd be nothing left but the pieces!"
"I'm keeping a lookout ahead, Joe!" Matt called back, over his shoulder.
He was in the lead, and his rear wheel was firing a stream of dust and sand into McGlory's eyes. But the cowboy was too excited to pay much attention to that.