"The car made so much noise that's not to be wondered at. I wasn't sure that what I'd heard was a shot, but——"
Matt had lifted his head to speak to McGlory. As he did so, his eyes glimpsed a figure skulking among the bushes at the roadside. The sunshine, and the glare from the fire, caused a ghastly radiance to hover about the bushes.
In the weird shadows of the bushes and trees, a face stood out prominently—a face topped with a sailor hat, fringed with mutton-chop whiskers, and with a patch over one eye.
The king of the motor boys gave a whoop and darted for the bushes. The face vanished as if by magic, but Matt kept furiously on, McGlory chasing after him.
"What's to pay, pard?" the cowboy was demanding.
"The sailor!" flung back Matt. "I saw him in the brush! He must have been the one who put that bullet into our front tire!"
"Whoop-ya!" yelled McGlory, all his hostility springing to the surface and causing him to forget his announced determination to "quit" and let the mandarin shift for himself. "Let's put the kibosh on him! He's the cause of all this. Hang the idol's eye! We've got an account of our own to settle. But look out for the glass balls."
Ahead of him Matt could hear the crash and crackle of undergrowth, and now and then he caught a glimpse of the racing sailor.
The timber grew more dense, and presently, just as Matt thought he had the fellow, he was brought up short with the quarry out of sight and hearing.
"He's dodged away," panted the cowboy. "Maybe he's doubled back."