AN ODD TANGLE.

In a flash Motor Matt recalled what McGlory had told him among the sand dunes beyond the Presidio barracks. He had described a fellow, about his own heft and height, whom he named as George Lorry. Could it be that Matt had picked up the very chap McGlory was looking for? And McGlory had referred to him as his cousin!

Matt hurried forward to where the so-called Thompson was struggling to get away from the cowboy.

"Hands off of me, McGlory!" panted the bedraggled youth. "You haven't any right to lay a finger on me, and you know it!"

"I haven't, eh?" growled McGlory. "Well, you just try to bolt, and I'll give you a run for your alley. You're a pretty specimen, ain't you? Oh, shucks! I'm plumb disgusted with you, and so's everybody else. What do you suppose the folks think, back in Madison?"

There was an exasperated rattle in the other's throat, but words and strength failed him, all at once, and he drooped limply in McGlory's arms.

"He's played out, Joe," said Matt. "Let him sit down for a minute and rest."

"What a mess he's made of this business," muttered McGlory angrily, as he allowed the flabby form he was holding to slip down on the rough cobblestones. "He hasn't as much sense as the law allows, and you can spread your blankets and go to sleep on that."

"You're positive he's the fellow you were looking for, Joe?" inquired Matt.

"Positive? Why, pard, I know him as well as I know my own picture in the looking-glass. See that scar?" and he indicated a thin red line over his cousin's right eyebrow. "I don't need even that to prove who he is," McGlory added.

"He told me his name was Thompson, and that he lived in Sausalito."

"He's liable to talk anything but straight—now. Let's get him somewhere to a hotel. Sufferin' sand hills! his folks would throw a fit if they could see him like this. His name's George Lorry, and he lives in Madison, Wisconsin. What's more, he's a cousin of mine, although that's nothing to congratulate myself about." McGlory bent down. "Able to walk, George?"

"Yes," was the sullen rejoinder.

"Any particular place you'd like to be taken?"

"Bixler House, around in Kearney Street. Get a cab."

"Got any money, George?"

Lorry's hands went slowly into his pockets.

"All I had with me is in the bottom of the bay," he answered sulkily.

"I don't think I can dig up enough to pay for a cab, but I reckon it's just as well for us to ride."

"I'll foot the bill," chimed in Matt. "Here, Ping!"

Ping was almost as hard a sight as was Lorry, but he came blandly forward in his bare feet.

"Yasso, Missul Matt," said he.

"Go and get a cab for us, Ping."

"Allee light. My workee fo' you," and he darted away along the street.

"I thought there was something queer about Lorry," remarked Matt.

"It's queerer than you think. Matt," replied McGlory. "The whole yarn, when you go over it from end to end and crossways, is enough to make a feller's hair stand like the fur on a buffalo robe."

Lorry looked up with a scowl.

"How did you know where I was?" he demanded.

"Didn't you buy a ticket to San Francisco?"

"I bought a ticket to Chicago."

"And from there, George, you bought one for here. Think you could fool the wise boys your father had scramblin' around Chicago lookin' you up? I got a telegram at Tucson asking me to hustle for 'Frisco, and do what I could to locate you. I've been in this burg for a week, and had just about made up my mind you'd taken a boat for somewhere on t'other side of the Pacific. And to think you were riding from Tiburon on the same craft that was carrying me!"

"I saw you on the boat, and I jumped overboard to get away from you."

McGlory went up into the air and came down with an astounded look at Matt.

"Say something about that!" he gasped. "Sufferin' Hottentots, Matt, did you hear him? He jumped overboard to get away from his cousin, Joe McGlory! Don't tell me, George!" he growled to Lorry. "You're not such a fool as that comes to. We're out of the same family, mind, and I'd hate to think it."

"You—you don't know everything," faltered Lorry.

"Keno, I don't; but I'm goin' to know everything, George Lorry, before we part company."

All this, of course, was more or less Greek to Motor Matt. It was clear enough that George Lorry had come of good stock, and equally clear that he had been pampered and spoiled. As for the rest of it, Matt was completely in the dark.

Just at that moment the cab arrived. As it drew up, Ping Pong threw open the door and jumped out.

"My gottee, Missul Matt!" he chirruped. "My workee fo' you, huh?"

"For a while, yes, Ping," Matt answered, unable just then to think of any other satisfactory method for dealing with the Chinaman. "Stay here and watch the boat till I come back. Savvy?"

"Can do," crowed Ping Pong, "you bettee. My workee fo' Motol Matt. Hoop-a-la!"

The Chinese boy seemed as delighted as he had been over in Tiburon, when ticket number 73 won the boat. He had insisted on working for Matt, and the pleasant feeling that comes with a job brought a grin to his face and satisfaction to his soul.

Matt, McGlory, and Lorry loaded themselves into the cab, and were driven away in the direction of Kearney Street.

"Let's get right down to cases, George," said the cowboy when they were well on their way. "First off, just understand that I'm your friend, that I'm representin' the folks back in Madison, and that I haven't trailed you to get back those ten thousand plunks."

With an effort, Lorry braced back in his seat and pushed the straggling hair out of his eyes.

"I didn't know what you were after, McGlory," he answered; "but I wasn't going to be bagged by you. When I'm ready to go home I'm ready, and not before."

"Oh, you ain't?" grunted the cowboy sarcastically.

"That's flat. The folks haven't treated me right, and they know it. They——"

"Oh, cut that out," growled McGlory wearily. "Haven't you got any sense, or are you just half fake and half false alarm? The trouble with Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie is that they've done a heap too much for you. If you'd had to knock about the mines and cattle ranges, same as me, earnin' your grub by hard knocks, I reckon you'd see things a lot different."

"I know my own business," snapped Lorry. "You haven't been in Madison for a year, Joe McGlory, and you don't know how the old man has been rubbing my fur the wrong way. I told him I wouldn't stand for it—and I didn't."

"You're a pill!" snorted McGlory, in a temper.

"What's more," pursued Lorry, in a temper that matched his cousin's, "I'm not going to take any insolence from you. You're nothing but a rowdy, anyhow. Your father was a rowdy——"

McGlory leaned over and dropped a hard hand on Lorry's knee.

"That'll do you, my buck," said he, his low voice ringing like steel. "While my father was alive he had my respect, and I did what he told me to. What's more, he steered me plumb right. He didn't have the money your father had, but that wasn't his fault. As for the rest, just remember that my mother was your mother's sister. Whenever I go to that hill, just out of Tucson, where those two mounds are heaped up, side by side, I can stand between 'em and say, with a clear conscience, that I'm livin' square. In my place, George Lorry, you couldn't do that, and you know it."

McGlory's eyes flashed, and, on the instant, the liking Matt had already conceived for the cowboy intensified into a fast and enduring friendship. Joe McGlory had character, and the right kind of an outlook upon life.

At that moment the cab came to a halt.

"Here's the place," announced McGlory, pushing open the door, "and a fine old honkatonk it is. I've been to this place huntin' for you. Wonder why I didn't find you?"

"Probably," was the sarcastic comment of Lorry, "you didn't ask for Thompson."

Matt paid the driver of the cab, and then followed McGlory and his cousin into the dilapidated building. A frowsy-looking clerk bestirred himself and leaned over the counter, his curious gaze centring on Lorry.

"Gee Christopher!" he exclaimed, "is that you, Mr. Thompson?"

"Give me the key to my room," snarled Lorry.

The key was handed over, and Lorry led the way out of the room and up a flight of narrow stairs. A hall was traversed, and near the end of it Lorry unlocked a door, and bolted across the threshold. McGlory rushed after him, and when Matt stepped into the bare little room, the cowboy was jerking a revolver out of his cousin's hand. The drawer of a bureau, at one side of the room, was open.

"Now what do you think!" cried McGlory, whirling away and pushing the revolver into his pocket. "He yanked this pepper box out of that drawer, Matt, and turned it on himself. With all his highfalutin' airs, that cousin o' mine hasn't got the backbone of a jellyfish. Look at him! Did you ever see any one of his age and size with less manliness in his make-up?"

Matt turned and looked at Lorry. The next moment Lorry stumbled to the bed and fell on it at full length, burying his face in the pillow.