He wondered, as he swung along, what Carl would think when he came to himself and found the car missing—and Matt gone with it. And what would Legree think? And Eliza?
But what those in Fairview might think was a minor consideration. The great point was the recovery of the Red Flier before the car's captors could wreck the machine.
Brisco was the only one of the two scoundrels who could run a car, and even Brisco's knowledge was superficial. An hour's instruction, from the driver of Nugent's runabout, was all Brisco had had.
Brisco now had two stolen cars and he could run only one of them—unless, indeed, the third man he had picked up knew something about motors.
Matt, perhaps, had walked a mile through the gloomy hills, when he heard a noise as of some one in the road ahead. He halted, half-fearing that Brisco and Spangler were coming back.
But that could not be, he reasoned. If they had wanted to come back, they would have used the car—and the noise Matt heard was of footsteps.
He listened, straining his ears and eyes. Only one man was coming. He could not see, but hearing alone told him there was but one.
Backing into the deep shadow of a nest of boulders, he continued to wait.
The man, whoever he was, was coming hurriedly. Sometimes he ran, and occasionally he stumbled. As he drew closer, Matt saw that he was a small man, and as he came closer still the figure resolved itself into that of a mere boy.
"Hello!" called Matt, stepping out into the road again.