"Never mind the clothes," cut in Matt, wildly alarmed on McGlory's account. "You—— Here, stop that, Ping! Where you going?"
The Chinese had abruptly gained his feet and plunged toward the open door. At that moment, the door looked like the opening into a raging furnace.
"My savee Splite!" blubbered Ping. "No lettee Splite go top-side! Woosh!"
The yellow boy was as fond of the boat as were Matt, McGlory and Lorry. He had watched her rebuilding, in his curious, heathen way, and every step toward completion lifted his pride and admiration higher and higher.
Matt had grabbed Ping and was holding him back. His mind, dealing with McGlory, worked quickly.
The cowboy, he reasoned, had been on guard outside. Those who had fired the boathouse must have had to take care of McGlory before they could carry out their nefarious plans. This being true, it could not be possible that the cowboy was in any danger from the fire. It was the Sprite, therefore, that should now claim Matt's attention. McGlory could be looked for afterwards.
"We'll save her together, Ping," cried Matt, "but we can't go into the boathouse that way. We'd be overcome before we got anywhere near the well. We must get into the building by the other end."
The Sprite was in imminent danger, there could not be the least doubt about that. After Mr. Lorry and Ethel had left for home, during the afternoon, the boat had been placed upright on the rollers leading to the incline of the well.
This, bringing her nearer the landward end of the boathouse made the boat's danger greater than if she had been left on the skids which had supported her while the work inside her hulk was going on.
Not only that, but, preparatory to the morning's trial, her tanks had been filled with gasoline. If the flames should reach the tanks——