"We're goin' off half-cocked, seems to me!" he yelled. "We've known that fat chink for about ten minutes, and here we are, lamming into his game like a couple of wolves. What's the use of brains, pard, if you don't use 'em?"
"While we were thinking matters over," Matt answered, ripping around a sharp turn, "the one-eyed man would be getting away."
"What're we going to do when we overhaul him? Make an offhand demand for the Eye of Buddha? It sounds flat enough, and if the webfoot tells us we're crazy, and gives us the laugh, what're we going to do?"
"Brakes! brakes!" cried Matt, and his motor cycle began to stagger and buck-jump as he angled for a halt.
McGlory was startled by the command, but instantly he obeyed it. In order to avoid running his chum down, he not only bore down with the brakes but also swerved toward the roadside. He came to a sudden stop in a thicket of bushes, and extricated himself with some difficulty.
Matt was in the road, his motor cycle leaning against a tree. A yard in front of him lay a flat cap. He pointed to it.
"What's that to do with a breakneck stop like we just made?" snorted the cowboy. "It's not the headgear we want, pard, but the man that owns it."
"Sure," returned Matt. "Look farther down the road, Joe, and then you'll understand."
A straight drop in the road stretched ahead of the boys for a quarter of a mile. Halfway along the stretch was the automobile. The machine was at a stop, and the driver and the one-eyed man were leaning over the motor. The hood had been opened, and the driver was tinkering.
"Something has gone wrong," said Matt, "and it happened soon after the sailor had lost his cap. Our one-eyed friend, I think, will come back after his property. If he does, we'll talk with him. We can't go too far in this business, you know. I have considerable confidence in Tsan Ti, but still we're not absolutely sure of our ground."