"Probably he's gone back to the hotel."
"Oh, probably," was the sarcastic retort; "yes, probably! I've got money that says he's sloped for good. Look here. They say there were two fellows in the car with the chink when it left the Mountain House. Are you the fellows?"
"Yes."
"Then, by jing, I'll hold you. Twenty-five hundred is what I want, and I want it quick."
"Oh, rats!" grunted the man in the runabout. "I'll bet those fellows couldn't rake up twenty-five hundred cents. Quit foolin', Jackson, and let's go back."
Matt and McGlory, after their recent experiences in the collision and while chasing the sailor, were most assuredly not looking their best. But they could have drawn a draft on Chicago for twenty-five hundred dollars and had it honored—had they been so minded.
"Oh, say moo and chase yourself!" cried McGlory. "You rented the car to the Chinaman; you didn't rent it to us."
"I'm going to hold you, anyhow," declared the man called Jackson.
"You'll have a good time trying it," retorted the cowboy truculently.
Jackson stepped toward McGlory.