“Sure, it’s Joe,” whooped the cowboy. “What’s going on here, anyhow? What do you want me for?”
[CHAPTER VIII.
CHUMS IN COUNCIL.]
McGlory was under the impression that Matt had sent for him. In spite of the strange proceedings through which the cowboy had passed, he still believed that Tibbits had brought him on that long ride according to the wishes of his friend. Even the locking of the door, after Matt had entered the room, did not appear to have aroused any suspicions in McGlory’s mind.
Matt looked around. He was in a large room, lined with bookcases. At one end of the apartment was a magnificent fireplace. A thick carpet, that gave one the impression of walking on down, covered the floor. White busts looked out from niches in the wall, and comfortable chairs were scattered around. A light, suspended from the ceiling, cast a warm glow over the room, and over a table, heaped with food, and set with places for two.
“I’ve been waiting here for an hour,” grumbled McGlory. “Where have you been, pard, and what sort of a layout is this that you’ve brought me into?”
Matt removed his hat and threw it upon a couch; then, seating himself in a chair, he began rubbing his hands and arms and staring at his chum.
“What’s the trouble with you, pard?” asked McGlory. “You act as though you were in a trance.”
“I am,” returned Matt. “I’m hardly able to credit my senses. In the first place, Joe, I never sent for you and asked you to come here.”
The cowboy gave a jump.