"Matt hasn't got here yet?"
"He hasn't been seen or heard of. That's some queer, I reckon. He took a crosscut. Coming at sixty miles an hour, barring accidents, he ought to have reached Sykestown by noon."
"Well," said the optimistic lieutenant, "it's a good thing to know he hasn't got here and gone on without waiting for us. Matt knows we were not to meet until morning. He may be waiting at some farmer's shack, somewhere out of town. Let's get a hand-out and then go to bed. Wrestling with a refractory motor is tiresome work."
This was sensible advice, and the cowboy, although he did not accept Cameron's explanation of Matt's absence, concluded to accept it.
McGlory was up at dawn, however, inquiring anxiously for news. There was none. Taking a chair out in front of the hotel he sat down to wait.
An hour later, Ping came scuffling around the corner of the hotel.
"Where have you been, Ping?" McGlory asked.
"My makee sleep in choo-choo car," replied the Chinaman, taking an upward squint at the sky with his slant eyes. "Cloud Joss no makee come, huh?"
"Nary, Ping. I'm which and t'other about this, too. We're up against a rough game of some kind, and I'd give my eyeteeth to know what it is."
"Plaps Motol Matt makee lescue Melican lady all by himself."