“I’m a cowpuncher, and a cowpuncher ain’t built right for footwork. Well, let’s chance old Death and Destruction. We’ve got to be at that meeting, and we’ve five hours to get there. If the runabout don’t go backward more than it does ahead, I reckon we can make it.” Levitt seemed as dubious over the attempt to ride in the runabout as was McGlory. “Sure,” remarked Kelly, “she looks like a nice, easy-ridin’ little car. I’ve cleaned her, and oiled her, and pumped her full of fuel, and she ought to travel.” “She ought to, that’s a fact,” said Levitt, “but I’m afraid she won’t. However, we’ve got to take a chance. Hop in, McGlory.” Levitt speeded up the engine and threw in the clutch. The runabout moved quietly out of the garage. CHAPTER XI. UNCLE TOM AGAIN. Why hadn’t McGlory and Levitt gone to the city with Colonel Billings? This is the mental question Matt put to himself, and he was at a loss for a logical answer. If McGlory and Levitt were hand and glove with the colonel in working out his nefarious scheme, then there was no reason in the world why they should not be traveling together--unless the big touring car used by the colonel had been loaded to its capacity. This did not seem possible. Nor could it be that Levitt and McGlory were taking the runabout to get it out of Matt’s way. They didn’t want to use the car, and they had asked Kelly for another. Matt, with his curiosity still unsatisfied, was on the point of rolling back to his cot, when some one else appeared in the doorway. Hope leaped within him when he recognized Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom! Matt had forgotten all about the old negro. “Marse Kelly, sah,” piped Uncle Tom, “where is yo’?” “Here,” answered Kelly, coming forward. “What do you want?” “Marse Partington, whut jess come in on his car, wants tuh speak wif yo’ er minit, Marse Kelly. He done sont me tuh fotch yuh.” “What does he want?” “He didn’t say, suh. He jess say, ‘Tom, yo’ lazy niggah, run tuh de garage an’ tell Kelly Ah wants tuh see him right off.’ Dat’s whut he say, an’ ev’rybody knows Ah’s de hardest wo’kin’ man about de place. Lazy! Ah ain’t so spry as I uster be, but, by golly, Ah’s----” “Where is Mr. Partington, Tom?” interrupted Kelly. “Jess sta’tin’ fo’ de golf links, suh.” Kelly started, and Uncle Tom started with him. Matt’s heart sank. If he could only have attracted the old negro’s attention there would have been some one to help him in making an escape. While Matt lay on the floor, again furiously working at the ropes, Uncle Tom slipped stealthily back into the garage. His old rheumatic legs carried him with unusual rapidity out of sight toward the rear of the room, and Matt could hear him, a moment later, clambering up the stairs. Brave old Uncle Tom! He knew of Matt’s plight, and was coming to help him. The door of the bedroom was unlocked, and the darky came hurriedly into the room. He was shaking with excitement, and lost not a moment hurrying to Matt’s side.