CHAPTER XI.
OUT OF A BLAZING FURNACE.
The cool night air quickly wrought its work, so far as George wasconcerned. Sitting up on the ground, confused and unable to understandwhat had happened, he stared at the conflagration at the edge of thecove.
Rubbing his eyes and muttering to himself, he stared again. Heremembered calling McGlory, and dropping down into the bunk afterMcGlory had got out of it. After that he knew nothing until he sat upthere on the ground, with the fire dancing in front of his eyes.
The fog was slower getting out of his brain than out of his lungs.Rising to his feet, he started for the path leading up the bank,animated by the hazy idea that he ought to get word to the firedepartment.
He stumbled over something. Being none too steady, he fell headlong,only to lift himself again as the object over which he had fallen gavevent to a rumbling, inarticulate sound.
"Is that you, Matt?" he asked.
The answer was a desperate gurgle.
By that time Lorry had, in a great measure, recovered the use of hiswits. Creeping to the side of the person who was trying so hard tospeak, he saw by the glare of the fire that it was McGlory.
"Great Scott!" he murmured, his hands passing over the form. "It'scousin Joe, and he's tied and gagged!"
Lorry was only a moment in freeing the cowboy's jaws of the twistedhandkerchief.
"Tell me about this!" fumed McGlory. "I thought I'd never be found.What are you kneeling there for, George, gawping like you were locoed?Get these ropes off me, and see how quick you can do it. Don't youknow that Matt's in that boathouse, and that he and Ping are trying tosave the _Sprite_? We've got to lend a hand. Sufferin' blockheads, butyou're slow! Cut the ropes with a knife if you can't untie 'em."
"I'm in my underclothes," answered George. "I don't know where my knifeis."
"I've got a knife in my pocket. Take it out, but hustle, for Heaven'ssake, _hustle_!"
George was shaking like a man with a chill. The terrors of the momentwere dawning upon his bewildered mind. His hands trembled while gropingthrough McGlory's pockets, and they trembled worse when he opened theknife and tried to use it.
"Who--who set the fire?" he mumbled.
"Do you think I'm a mind reader?" stormed McGlory. "I was to blame, forI was on guard and ought to have seen those negroes before they downedme and trussed me up in this fashion. If anything happens to Matt, I'llbe to blame for it, and if the _Sprite_ is burned I'll be to blame forthat, too. Oh, I've got a lot to think of, I have!"
The cowboy's self-reproach was keen.
"Did some one steal up on you, Joe?" asked Lorry.
"What do you take me for, George? Do you think I laid down and put myhands behind me so the blacks could tie 'em? They got me, right thereat the corner of the boathouse, just as I was coming around. A blowdazed me, and before I could let out a yip, they had ropes on my wristsand ankles and that thing between my jaws. I heard Matt calling, and,sufferin' jailbirds! here I lay without bein' able to say a word. Oh,_can't_ you cut those ropes? Take a brace--your nerves are in rags."
George managed finally to saw the blade through one coil of the cordthat secured McGlory's hands. With a swift tug from the shoulders thecowboy released himself, then caught the knife from his cousin's handand slashed it through the ropes at his feet.
The next instant he was up and bounding toward the boathouse.
"Where are you going?" shouted George.
McGlory, rendered desperate by the knowledge that Matt was in theboathouse facing death in a fierce effort to save the _Sprite_, washeading straight for the door of the building.
The door was merely a riffle in a wall of flame. Before McGlory couldreach it, the whole end of the boathouse crashed outward.
He sprang backward, just in time to avoid the blazing timbers, andturned to Lorry with a groan.
"We can't help him!" he cried hoarsely. "Motor Matt's done for, the_Sprite's_ done for--everybody's done for, George. And it was all on myaccount."
Here it was that Lorry came to the front with a little common sense.
"You were not to blame, Joe," he asserted. "You were set on by somenegroes, and you could no more help what happened than Matt or I. Pullyourself together and don't be a fool. Motor Matt knows what he'sabout. If he's in that boathouse he'll get out of it again. Anyhow, wecan't help him from this side. We'll go around by the pier and get thelaunch. If we can get the launch through the water door, maybe we canhitch on to the _Sprite_ and tow her out."
This talk had a salutary effect on McGlory.
"The _Sprite_ isn't in the water," he answered. "How could we tow herout?"
"Matt will get her in the water," said Lorry confidently. "What do yousuppose he's doing in there if he isn't getting the _Sprite_ into thewell? We left her on rollers at the top of the incline, and Matt couldlaunch her alone without any trouble. Let's get the launch and be readyto help."
The launch referred to by Lorry was the one he had hired and broughtacross the lake for Matt's use during the work on the _Sprite_. Theboat was kept at one end of the pier. While the _Sprite_ was on theskids, the other boat was housed in the well at night, but this nightshe had been left outside so as not to interfere with the launching ofthe _Sprite_ in the early morning.
Hoping against hope that they could yet do something that would helpMotor Matt, the two boys ran alongside the boathouse, jumped to thepier and unfastened the painter of the launch. Just as they tumbledinto it and McGlory was turning the flywheel, a loud explosion camefrom inside the boathouse. A cloud of firebrands and sparks geysered upfrom the roof.
"What was that?" gasped Lorry.
"The gasoline," answered McGlory, dropping down on the thwartships seatin front of the motor. "I don't know what we can do now, George."
"We'll get into the boathouse," flung back Lorry. "If----"
Lorry was interrupted by another crash. Under the startled eyes ofthe two in the launch, the water door was ripped and splintered, andthrough the ragged gap as out of a blazing furnace sped the _Sprite_.
For a moment she reeled as though undecided which way to turn; then,suddenly, she shot off into the lake. Neither Lorry nor McGlory couldsee any one aboard her.
"Where's Matt?" cried the cowboy.
The echoes of his voice were taken up by another crash, and theremaining walls of the boathouse flattened themselves with a greathissing as the burning timbers dropped into the well, and off the pierinto the lake.
"If he was in there," added the cowboy huskily, pointing to the wreckedbuilding, "then there's----"
"He wasn't in there," cut in Lorry. "He couldn't have been. Do yousuppose the _Sprite_ started herself?"
While speaking, Lorry was "turning over" the engine. The motor took upits cycle, and Lorry steered into the lake after the _Sprite_.
The _Sprite_ was darting this way and that at terrific speed, followinga course so erratic that it would be easily inferred there was noguiding hand on the steering wheel.
Away the boat would rush, directly into the gloom that hovered over thelake; then, before she could vanish, she would describe a hair-raisingturn and jump to starboard or port.
"But where's Matt if he is in the boat?" demanded McGlory.
"On the bottom, perhaps," replied Lorry. "He started her, and that'sall he was able to do. We've got to lay the _Sprite_ aboard, somehow."
"That's easier said than done," said McGlory. "She's jumping aroundlike a pea on a hot griddle, and is just as likely to slam into us andcut us down as to do anything else. Sufferin' sidewinders, look atthat!"
The _Sprite_ had made a complete turn and was now headed shoreward andstreaking straight towards the boys.
"Here's our chance!" said Lorry. "If the _Sprite_ hangs on as she'scoming she'll pass close to us. Will you jump aboard her, Joe, or shallI?"
"I'll do it," answered the cowboy. "Can't you turn the launch andfollow the _Sprite_, side by side with her? She'll travel faster thanwe will, but it'll make it easier to jump w
ithout going into the lake."
This manoeuvre was carried out, and Lorry, who could handle a boattolerably well for an amateur, brought the launch about and picked upthe _Sprite_ as she dashed onward.
McGlory cleared a foot of water at a flying leap and dropped into the_Sprite's_ cockpit. In a few minutes he had checked the boat's aimlessracing and had brought her to a halt.
"Is Matt there?" queried Lorry anxiously, working the launch close tothe _Sprite_.
"He's here," answered McGlory, "but he's unconscious. Ping's here, too,and his wits are wool-gathering, same as Matt's. They're both alive,though, and I reckon they'll be all right with a little care."
"Follow me across the lake," said Lorry. "We'll go to the clubhouse.The quicker we can get a doctor, the better."
The first gray of dawn was just glimmering along the eastern edge ofthe sky as the two boats stood away for Madison.
Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins Page 11
