Then, with considerable violence, McGlory pushed the old sailor against one of the porch posts, and held him there, squirming.
[CHAPTER IV.]
BUNCE HAS A PLAN.
"Avast, there!" gurgled Bunce, half choked, trying to pull the cowboy's hands from his throat.
The green patch was over his left eye, and the right eye gleamed glassily in the electric light.
Matt was as much surprised at Bunce's appearance as was McGlory, but he held his temper better in hand. The cowboy, profoundly disgusted with the trend of recent events, showed a disposition to take it out of the sailor.
Had Bunce been even the half of an able seaman he would have given McGlory a hard scramble, but he seemed a wizened, infirm old salt, although he had proved active enough during the experiences the motor boys had already had with him.
"Don't strangle him, Joe!" called Matt. "Take your hands from his throat and grab his arm. He came here openly, and he must have known we were here. Judging from that, I should say that his intentions are peaceable."
"Ask him," gritted McGlory, "why he doesn't change eyes with the patch. Let's get to the bottom of this moving-picture business, too. We can have a little heart-to-heart talk, I reckon, and find out a few things before we turn the old webfoot over to the police."