There was clearly no satisfaction to be got out of Siwash Charley.
"Something will happen to that aëroplane," said Matt, "if it's left alone on the prairie."
"Don't worry erbout that thar flyin' machine. We're goin' ter take keer o' it."
"Murgatroyd," cried Matt, "if you do any more injury to that machine, you'll have to pay for it."
"Sing small," answered the broker, giving all his attention to his driving; "you'll be a whole lot wiser before I'm done with you."
"That machine," went on Matt, "is to be delivered to the government, at Fort Totten, on the first of next month. If it isn't, I'll lose the sale of it. If you keep me from making the sale, you'll have to pay the government price—fifteen thousand dollars."
Siwash Charley lay back in his seat and guffawed loudly.
"Talks big, don't he, Murg?" said he.
"Talk's cheap," was the laconic answer.
Owing to his bonds, Matt had difficulty in keeping himself upright on the seat while the automobile pitched and slewed along the road.