McGlory was back in ten minutes. His face was glowing.
“Matt King dodged Levitt and all the rest who were trailing him,” he reported.
“What!” The colonel arose excitedly from his seat.
“Don’t fret, colonel,” grinned the cowboy, “it’s not so bad as that. An old darky who works around the club grounds helped Matt make his getaway. Matt asked him to tell me to meet him in the woods at the roadside, a quarter of a mile north. That’s where I’m going now. You’ll hear from me before one o’clock, colonel.”
“What are you going to do?” rapped out the colonel.
“Something that will make the deal a sure go. I haven’t time to talk much. Adios, for now.”
McGlory was away again like a shot, leaving the colonel wondering—and fretting a little.
A few minutes later Levitt came gloomily into the room.
“That young cub gave us the slip,” said he savagely, “and I never had such a run in my life. The fat’s in the fire, Billings.”
“Not so, my friend,” returned the colonel, his quick wit grasping something that looked like an opportunity. “Can you get hold of a man who will help you? Are you acquainted with any one about the club grounds who can be trusted to do a little brisk work and then keep quiet about it?”