The cowboy repeated his earlier attempts, only to be gruffly warned by the vigilant guards, outside the house and in the hall.
“How many men do you reckon Tibbits left here?” growled McGlory.
“I wish I knew. He seems to have had quite a gang.”
“And they’re all after a little of that ten thousand dollars!” muttered McGlory. “Pretty small pickings for fellows like Dimmock and Tibbits. I can size them up for that sort of grafters.”
“I think we’d better wait till morning before we make any more attempts to get away,” said Matt.
“I reckon we’ll have to,” answered McGlory, in a discouraged tone.
“What sort of fellow was that who came in here, last night, and put our supper on the table?”
“A runt of a chap in an apron and a square white cap. Why?”
“Nothing—now.”
Without any further remarks, Matt shifted his position on the couch, and again went to sleep.