CHAPTER XIV.
PING STARS HIMSELF.
Ping was not impatient, while waiting for Matt and McGlory to comeback from the house boat, and he was not worrying. His callow mind wasengaged with the wheels and levers of the _Sprite's_ machinery, and hemight be said to be enjoying himself, in his artless, heathen way.
His first acquaintance with the _Sprite_ had not been of a pleasantnature, but Ping had overcome his awe and fear, to a large extent, bywatching how readily the boat obeyed the touch of Motor Matt's hands.
The Chinese boy had observed all the details of starting, steering, andstopping. Sitting alone in the launch, he touched the various leversin proper order, again and again--touched them lightly, for he had nodesire to make the boat turn a "summerset," as McGlory had said shewould do if he got too free with his attentions.
The uproar and commotion that started abruptly on the house boat andcontinued at intervals for some time, naturally drew the Chinaman'seyes across the _San Bruno_. But the attraction of the motor was toomuch for Ping to withstand, and he jumped at a conclusion to assurehimself that everything was well with Matt and McGlory, and returned tohis childlike interest in the machinery.
Some one scrambled off the _San Bruno_ into the _Sprite_. The roughboarding of the little launch caused her to sway and shiver and danceat the end of her painter.
"You makee plenty fuss, McGloly!" complained Ping, grabbing at thesides of the boat to hold himself upright.
Before he could look around a rough hand had caught his queue andjerked him over backward.
"Not a bloomin' word out o' you, chink!" hissed a menacing voice inPing's ear. "Ahead with ye, now, and unloose the painter. If you don'thustle, I'll kick yer inter next week. This is a hurry-up call, anddon't you fergit that!"
Ping didn't wait to argue the question. Rolling over the top of thehood, he knelt in the bow and tore the painter loose from the ironring. The engine was chugging by the time he had finished, and when the_Sprite_ started, under the impulsive hands of the strange white man,she leaped away with a jolt that rolled Ping back into the arms of theboat's captor.
With an oath, the man hurled Ping into the bottom of the boat. He wouldas soon have tumbled the Chinese boy into the water, and it was luck,rather than design, that kept Ping out of the wet.
Crawling back on the stern thwarts, Ping leaned on his elbows, blinkinghis little eyes and trying to guess what had happened.
Behind, over the swiftly growing stretch of water, he heard an uproaron the house boat, then the pant and throb of another engine.
The strange white man looked around and swore.
"They're chasin' me, but they won't get me!" he muttered. "If this boatcan put me ashore ahead of 'em, I'll save my bacon dry-shod; an' if itcan't, by thunder, I'll take to the water and swim!"
Ping heard this, and dwelt upon the words for some time. The strangewhite man was running away from the other devil-boat. What had thestrange white man done? Were Matt and McGlory on the other devil-boattrying to catch him? Or was it the three bad 'Melican men who weredoing the chasing?
Ping couldn't figure it out. About all he realized was that there wasa race between the _Sprite_ and the _San Bruno_. Inasmuch as the _SanBruno_ belonged to the enemy, Ping hoped in his heart that the _Sprite_would leave her behind.
They were making for the shore of the cove, but the strange white manwas handling the boat badly. He didn't push or pull the way Motor Mattdid, and the imprisoned devil under the hood--the power that made thepropeller whirl--coughed and spluttered with rage and pounded on themachinery with iron hammers.
It got on Ping's nerves, and he hoisted himself to a sitting posture.
"By Klismus," he cried frantically, "you lettee Ping lun engine! Himmakee go chop-chop, keepee _Splite_ away flom othel boat!"
The strange white man looked around with a snarl.
"Shut up!" he roared, "or I'll toss ye into the drink, so help me!"
Ping shut up. Lying back on the thwart he watched the other boat drawnearer and nearer. The shore was yet a good way off, and it was plainthe _San Bruno_ would overhaul the _Sprite_ before the land could bereached. And how the good devil under the hood was fighting to dobetter! How hard it was begging the strange white man to treat itright, and let it work easier and take the _Sprite_ away from the otherboat.
Ping gave a deep groan. Oh, if he was only at the wheel, and thepull-things and the push-things!
He looked around for something to throw at the strange white man. Ifa monkey wrench, or a hatchet, had been convenient, then one Landerswould probably never have known what struck him.
But, fortunately for Landers--and for Ping, too--no weapon wasavailable, and the race went on. The shore was near now, but the _SanBruno_ was nearer.
Ping, straining his eyes through the dark, could see the men on the_San Bruno_. There were three of them, and their boat was less thanthree lengths away!
Suddenly the _Sprite_ slewed around, crosswise of the _San Bruno's_course. Ping started up with a frightened yell, a splash echoing in hisears.
There was no one at the wheel or the levers! Ping's almond eyes turnedswiftly shoreward, and there they saw a form in the water, swimmingstrongly toward the land.
But Ping was not thinking of the strange white man, but of the_Sprite_. Hurling himself forward across the midship thwart, he seizedthe steering wheel and turned the launch in a wide circle.
A shout went up from the _San Bruno_.
"Halt, Landers! You can't get away with that money! Stop and dropalongside or we'll cut you down to the water's edge!"
Ping, naturally, couldn't understand this. The voice that had calledout was not the voice of Motor Matt or McGlory. Since they were not onthe _San Bruno_, then, of course, they must still be on the house boat.
The Chinese boy started back over the watery trail which the _Sprite_had recently traversed under the guidance of the white man. Carefullyhe doctored the motor, pulling and pushing as he had seen Matt push andpull, all the while breathing choice prayers in his native tongue toplacate the demon in the engine.
The devil must have been placated, at least a little, for he did notclamor quite so loud, but at intervals he hammered in a way that wasvery distressing to Ping. However, Ping couldn't help it, so he settledhimself down to his steering, occasionally throwing a look over hisshoulder at the other boat.
The _Sprite_ was gaining on her slowly. Ping continued to breathe hisheathen prayers, and to beg the honorable demon to stop pounding in themachine and to put its extra power into the little wheel under the boat.
As the _Sprite_ came closer and closer to the house boat Ping was ableto see two figures on the upper deck.
Were they Motor Matt and McGlory? He guessed they were not, whilehoping that they were. Anyhow, he would have to stop. His nervesfluttered as he wondered if he would be able to stop.
He had watched Matt as he brought the _Sprite_ alongside the _SanBruno_. As he remembered it, Matt had begun to play with the leversbefore the launch was very near the larger craft.
Matt, it will be recalled, had done this in order to let the _Sprite_glide noiselessly to her berth. Ping repeated the manoeuvre, andMcGlory danced around on the house boat's deck, fuming at the delaycaused by the halted motor.
The _San Bruno_ was almost bunting into the stern of _Sprite_ as thetwo boys made flying leaps to get aboard. The impact of their bodiescame within one of swamping the little craft, and Matt stumbled to thesteering wheel and got busy without losing an instant.
Ping slid backward over the midship thwart, yielding his place meeklyand gladly; and then, with McGlory, he watched while Motor Matt pluckedthe _Sprite_ out of harm's way.
It was so neatly done that Ping's heart swelled within him, and heslapped his hands and said glad things in Chinese. One touch of MotorMatt's hand, and the demon stopped pounding. A hum as of an industrioushive of bees came from under the hood, and the launch gathered itselftogether and flung onward with a fresh burst of speed.
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nbsp; The _San Bruno_, those aboard her still under the impression thatLanders was on the _Sprite_--perhaps, in the darkness, mistaking Pingfor their renegade comrade--continued to give pursuit.
It was a hopeless chase, however, and when the _Sprite_ gained her oldberth at the Tiburon wharf the _San Bruno_ had given up and turned backinto the night.