Matt could not understand these allusions to Mrs. Traquair. If she was a prisoner at the homestead, why was Murgatroyd writing a letter?
It required an hour's time to write the three letters. Murgatroyd allowed Siwash to read each one as soon as it was finished.
Siwash became jubilant as the reading progressed. When the last letter had been gone over, he brought his fist down on the table with a smashing blow.
"They'll do the trick, by jinks!" he declared. "Ye'll git what ye're arter, Murg, an' so'll I. Thunder, but I wisht I had your head!"
"It takes something of a head to make money and keep out of jail, these times," laughed Murgatroyd, getting up.
The letters were folded and put in the addressed envelopes, and Murgatroyd slipped the three missives into his pocket.
"I'm off, now, Siwash," said he, stepping toward the door. "It may take a week to wind up this business, and it may not take more than three days. See that the prisoner don't get away, whatever you do."
"Waal, ye kin bank on me from the drap o' the hat!" cried Siwash Charley effusively. "Blamed if I ever had anythin' ter do with sich a slick game as this afore, an' it does me proud ter have a hand in it. Count on me, Murg, count on me!"
With a derisive grin at Motor Matt, Murgatroyd stepped through the door in the hillside. A few moments later Matt could hear his automobile gliding off across the prairie.