M'KIBBEN'S TIP.
"Howdy, Matt!" cried McKibben. "Just dropped in to see you on a little
matter of business. Mrs. Spooner wanted to come up and announce me, but
I told her that wasn't necessary. Know where Tom Clipperton is?"
This point blank question struck Matt "all of a heap." If there was
one thing he hated more than another it was a lie. Only a coward will
side-step the truth. However, Matt couldn't very well tell McKibben
that Clip was in the closet, and he didn't see how he could refuse
to answer McKibben's question without arousing his suspicions.
Fortunately, the official did not wait very long for Matt to reply.
"I've just come from the place where Clipperton boards," said he, "and
he wasn't there. I can have a little talk with you, though, and maybe
it will do just as well."
Matt and McKibben were very good friends, and the sheriff dropped into
the chair recently vacated by Clip.
"What's happened, Mr. McKibben?" queried Matt. "Has some one turned up
to claim that red roadster?"
"No, and I don't believe any one ever will. The fellows who own that
car know when to let well enough alone. What I want to see you about,
Matt, is an altogether different matter, although the roadster is
indirectly concerned. You were out this afternoon with Clipperton,
McReady, and Perkins, and you got away from a cattle stampede by the
skin of your eye-winkers, at the same time saving Josh Fresnay, of the
Fiddleback outfit."
"It wasn't much of a getaway," laughed Matt. "When you open that red
roadster up she can go about ten feet to a steer's one."
"Of course," returned McKibben, "with a cool head and a steady hand,
like yours, there wasn't much danger. Fresnay was telling me about it.
He also told me how his horse was stopped by a half-breed, and how he
had a notion that the half-breed was Pima Pete, one of Dangerfield's
old gang. Fresnay has only seen Pima Pete once or twice, and one
half-breed looks a lot like another, anyhow, so Fresnay didn't think
very much about it at the time he got his horse back. While he was
riding into Phoenix though, he got to turning the matter over in his
mind, along with something else he saw, and he got a bit suspicious.
As soon as he'd finished his business at the bank he came to see me. I
heard what he had to say and went to see Clipperton, but he wasn't at
home. Knowing you were a chum of Clipperton's, I headed for here."
Matt was startled, although he tried not to show it. Fresnay was a
source of peril for Clip--that point went home to Matt in a twinkling.
"Naturally," resumed the sheriff, taking a whole lot for granted, "you
wouldn't know Pima Pete from Adam, but Clip might know him. Anyhow,
on the supposition that Fresnay's suspicions were well grounded, I
have sent a couple of deputies out into the hills to look for the
half-breed; but I'd like a little more information, if I could get it.
There's another point, too, which looks a little bit queer, in case
Fresnay has got it right. He said he saw the half-breed hand Clipperton
something that looked like a scrap of paper. Fresnay may have been
wrong in this--I hope he is--for if the half-breed really proves to be
Pima Pete, that note business will have an ugly look for your chum.
See? What I want you to do, Matt, is to find Clip, if you can, and send
him to me. I've only got the boy's best interests at heart, and I want
to talk with him. A little heart-to-heart talk, just now, might save
him some trouble."
McKibben got up.
"I reckon that's all," he finished, moving toward the door. "If you can
find Clipperton you'll ask him to come and see me?"
"Yes," answered Matt.
Just then he was in a situation that was mighty unpleasant. How was he
going to play square with the sheriff and at the same time be loyal to
Clipperton? Certainly he could not tell what he knew about Clipperton
and Pima Pete.
As soon as the sheriff had gone, and the front door of the house had
closed behind him, Clip emerged from the closet. His face was set and
stern as he confronted Matt.
"Fresnay has made much trouble!" muttered Clip. "He recognized my
uncle. And he saw him smuggle that note into my hand. More than that,
two deputies are in the hills looking for Pima Pete."
Clip scowled his dissatisfaction over the prospect.
"You can see, old chap," said Matt, "what it means to tangle up with
Pima Pete in this business of Dangerfield's. Cut Pima Pete out. It
isn't safe for you to have anything more to do with him."
"_You_ needn't, Matt. You can't, after this. But I've got to. Pima
Pete's my uncle. Blood's thicker than water, even if it _is_ Indian
blood." The fiercely resentful look gleamed in Clip's eyes. "Pima Pete
came here on Dangerfield's business. But for that, he'd have been
across the border and safe by now. I'll see him to-night and warn him
to clear out."
"Clip," said Matt, in a low, earnest tone, "if you'll take my advice
you won't go near Pima Pete, but you'll go to the sheriff and make a
clean breast of the whole thing."
Clip made a gesture of savage dissent.
"If it was _your_ uncle," said he, with a bitter note in his voice,
"you'd see this thing differently. Suppose Pima Pete's captured and
brought in here. Suppose it becomes known he's a relative of mine--he,
one of Dangerfield's gang!" Clip's eyes became points of flame, and his
breath came hard and fast. "Why," and his voice was husky and thick
with passion as he spoke, "they might try to take me out of the public
school and send me to the Indian school. I've--I've stood all I can on
account of my blood. I'm not ashamed of it!" His head went up again and
his shoulders went back proudly. "But I'm not going to be an object of
contempt for the whites of this town. At the high school they've been
trying to down me because I'm part Indian. They couldn't have treated
me worse if I'd been a nigger. You were my only friend." His voice
softened. "You have made friends for me. Now I'm not going to lose all
I've gained by having Pima Pete brought in, and letting everybody know
what he is to me. Besides, he's my uncle. I'm not going to turn my back
on him while he's in trouble."
Clip's words came whisperingly, but with an undernote of firmness and
determination there was no shaking.
Matt was in a quandary. He could see Clip's side of the question, and
he knew how resolute he always was when he had made up his mind to a
certain course.
"Look here," said Matt, "you go and see the sheriff. Tell him
everything. He's a good friend of mine, and of yours, and he'll respect
your confidence. While you're doing that, I'll get onto the _Comet_, go
out into the hills, and warn Pima Pete myself. It will be safer for me
than for you."
Clip stared at Matt for a moment, then walked up to him and gripped his
hand.
"That's like you," he returned. "But it won't do. If there's danger in
meeting Pima Pete, it's _my_ danger. Besides, it's my duty. Another
thing. I'll not tell McKibben, nor any one else, what Pima Pete is to
me. I'll die first. And as long as you're my friend, you'll not breathe
a whisper of it to any one."
The last words were spoken slowly and deliberately.
"No matter what happens, Matt, that shot goes as it lays," went on
Clip. "I'm going to see Pima Pete and warn him. I'll start as soon as I
leave here. But I'll put on some other clothes so no one will know me.
And I won't take my motor-cycle. That would be a give-away. I'll walk."
Matt hardly knew what to do.
"If it wasn't for that confounded note," he muttered, "this business
would have a different look. I didn't think Fresnay saw that."
"He said he'd be a friend of ours," frowned Clip gloomily. "Now he's
making me trouble."
"Fresnay meant well. He thought he was doing the right thing to carry
his suspicions to the sheriff. In any other circumstances, Clip,
you'd have done the same thing, and so would I. I'll go with you out
there. Then, if anything should come of it, I'll have something to
say. Governor Gaynor is a friend of mine, and so is McKibben. I'm sure
they'd both of them listen to _me_."
Clip shook his head.
"I'll do this alone. I'm not going to ring you in. If I ever meant
anything in my life I mean that. You say you're a friend of mine. Then
prove it by staying right here in town. Don't say anything about me to
any one. That's all, Matt."
Clip glided to the door, opened it softly, and made a cautious survey
of the stairway and the hall.
"The coast is clear," he whispered, turning back for a moment, "and I
can get out without being seen. Good-by, pard."
"So-long, Clip."
Clip vanished from the room. Matt, looking from the front window, saw
him emerge from the house and start for a back street on his way to the
Mexican quarter. His Indian blood never showed in him more than it did
then. There was savage wariness in every movement.
Heavy-hearted and full of foreboding, Matt dropped into a chair. His
judgment told him that Clip ought not to go into the hills, but there
was no way Matt could prevent it. His hands were tied.
For an hour Matt sat in his chair; then, for an hour longer, he paced
the floor. After that he tried to read, but his gloomy thoughts would
give him no peace.
It was about nine o'clock when he pulled covers, but for a long time
he could only toss about sleeplessly and think of Clip. He heard the
clock in the court-house tower chime the hours up to midnight, and then
dropped into heavy slumber.
The gray dawn was looking in at his windows when he was aroused.
Somebody was pounding on his door. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes,
he jumped up, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.
Chub McReady staggered in. His face was gray in the dim light, and he
was breathless from running and excitement.
"What do you think, Matt?" he puffed. "Clip's been arrested. He's over
in the jail, now."