Up the shoulder of the mountain he went, pawing and scrambling, then down on the other side, Matt and McGlory close after him. He was making strenuously for a cleared space at the foot of the little slope. In the centre of the clearing were the remains of a stone wall, and near the wall stood a little stone house. The house appeared to be deserted, and the half-opened door swung awry on one hinge.
"He's makin' for the 'dobe!" wheezed the cowboy.
The words had hardly left his lips before the sailor vanished within the stone walls. Matt ran recklessly after him.
"Look out for the double-X brand of dope!" warned McGlory. "You know what he did before, Matt."
But Matt was already inside the house. The interior apparently consisted of a hall and two rooms, although the boarded-up windows cast a funereal gloom over the place, and made it difficult to see anything distinctly. Matt sprang through one of the two doors that opened off the hall, and McGlory, still clamoring wildly for his chum to beware of the glass balls, followed.
Slam went the door of the room—probably the only door in the house that was in commission—and rattle-rattle went a key in the lock.
Then came a husky laugh, and the words:
"Belay a bit, you swabs! Leave the Eye o' Buddha alone. An' that's a warnin'."
Feet pattered along the hall and out of it.
"Nip and tuck," sang out McGlory, while Matt wrestled with the door, "and it wasn't the webfoot that got nipped, not so any one could notice. Catch your breath, pard, and calm down. Old One Eye has made his getaway, and we might just as well laugh as be sorry."