Whether O'Grady really thought Motor Matt had taken French leave during the night or not, is a question. Certainly he was as surprised to see Matt traveling into town as were any of the rest of them.
All those around the hotel flocked to the road.
"Hello, Matt!" called Nugent, reaching up his hand. "It looks like you'd been accomplishing something."
Matt's acquaintance with the cattleman had been of exceedingly brief duration, and never before had he been hailed by him in that cordial tone.
"How are you, Mr. Nugent?" he returned, taking the cattleman's hand. "How did you happen to come over this way?"
"Got a telegram from you——"
"From me?" echoed Matt.
"I sent it, Matt," put in Legree, "and signed your name to it. When you disappeared last night I knew something had to be done, and that there ought to be a man with money to do it. So I sent for Nugent."
"It's all right, my boy," said Nugent, "and I'm tickled to death because I came. You're bringing in my car, I see, and the two fellows that took it away from me. Good! If we don't put 'em through for their crooked work, my name ain't Nugent."
"You'll have to send for a doctor for Brisco," said Matt. "He's been unconscious for two hours, and I don't know whether he's badly hurt or not. You see——"