PRESCOTT.
Not again did the boys see their pursuers, and for five minutes they
kept up their swift pace. When finally sure that they were safe, they
slowed down their machines.
"Didn't you ever get rattled, Matt?" asked Chub.
"Lots of times, old fellow," laughed Matt.
"Well, if you'd got rattled back there at the break in the road little
Reddy McReady would have been raked in too easy for any use. Those two
roughs were dead set on getting us. Must be something mighty important
ahead of us in Prescott or they wouldn't have tried so hard to hold us
back."
"I'm getting more confidence in that first note all the time," declared
Matt.
"That's the way I stack up. It was a regular raw blazer of a play,
though, the way those fellows came at us. But they'd laid their plans
pretty well. Where they missed was in not riding out into the trail
ahead of us instead of behind."
"That wasn't a miss," said Matt, "that was a part of their plan. They
had taken up the planks across that break in the road, and thought
they'd chase us to the chasm and stop us there."
"I'll bet the air is some blue around where those two fellows are now,"
laughed Chub. "But put me wise to this: How did they know we were
intending to go to Prescott on our motor-cycles?"
"That's too many for me, Chub. There's been quite a lot going on in
Phoenix that I can't understand. The same Mexican delivered both notes
to Mrs. Spooner, and it looks as though the two men who robbed Fresnay
had been staying in the town, and at the same place where the fellow
who wrote the first note was hanging out."
"If we'd had time to look up that Mexican----"
"Couldn't have found him in a thousand years from Mrs. Spooner's
description. If I'd been at home when he brought that second note, he
wouldn't have got away until he had told me a few things."
"My thinkin'-apparatus is all kinked up over the whole business,"
puzzled Chub, "but it looks like those two handy-boys are playing the
game all by themselves. One of them wrote that warning and sent it to
us, then picked up his partner and slid for the hills in order to stop
us if the note didn't scare us out. They're the robbers, Matt; they're
the ones that lifted Fresnay's money, all right."
"Then what do they want to keep us away from Prescott for?" queried
Matt. "They needn't worry about themselves. With two good horses, and
their freedom, and ten thousand in gold, they could start for Mexico.
Whatever we can do in Prescott needn't bother them."
"Maybe they're not able to clear out just yet."
All the speculations of the chums regarding the two notes, and the men
who had recently tried to stop them, were mere guesswork. Giving up
their attempt to probe the mystery, they set themselves to the task of
reaching Prescott as soon as possible.
At Skull Valley, a place consisting of only half a dozen houses and the
railroad-station, they halted just long enough to eat a hurried meal.
There was the chance, if they tarried too long, that their enemies
might attempt to get ahead of them on the road they were still to cover.
When they had finished eating, the boys went over their machines,
tightened a few bolts, lighted their lamps--it was beginning to get
dark--then mounted and hurried on.
From Skull Valley north they found the worst part of the road. It was
on low ground, and boggy. During the present dry weather the road was
passably good, but after a rain it would have been difficult for wagons
to travel it, to say nothing of motor-cycles.
For the most of the way the trail tried to follow the railroad-track,
dipping under high trestles and angling back and forth across the
rails. It was poor up to within half a dozen miles of Prescott, and
then, abruptly, it became like an asphalt boulevard, level with the
track and smooth and clean right up to the ends of the ties.
It was nearly nine o'clock in the evening when the boys reached this
good stretch of road, and their lamps, streaming out ahead, showed it
to them clearly.
"Mighty good going for a motor-cycle race," said Chub.
"And a fine place for racing a limited train," added Matt, his mind
running on the possibilities of steam versus gasoline.
"Say," said Chub, "I'd like to see the _Comet_ splurging along by Jack
Moody's big Baldwin, with Moody late and making up time! Whoo-ee! That
would be a race! When Moody's behind his schedule you'd think a wildman
was at the throttle."
Although the boys did not dream of it at the time, yet this talk of
theirs was prophetic.
Presently the motor-cycles glided over a low hill, covered a couple
of miles of level road, crossed the track, and entered the town of
Prescott.
Chub, who had been in Prescott several times, knew the location of the
Briggs House, and led the way directly there. They registered, secured
a room on the ground floor, and, in order to make sure there would be
no tampering with their machines, trundled them into the room where
they would be constantly under their eyes or else behind a locked door.
The motor-cycles were looked over and taken care of, and then the boys,
tired out with their trip, tumbled into bed and fell asleep.
They were up in time for breakfast, and were eagerly expecting
something to happen. It was Thursday, the day specified in the note
which had been so mysteriously delivered at Mrs. Spooner's.
Following breakfast, they sat around the hotel office, impatient and
with every faculty on the alert.
Noon came, and they had dinner, then the afternoon waned, and they
had supper. No one came near them to broach anything connected with
the particular business that had brought them to Prescott. By eleven
o'clock Matt gave up hope of hearing anything that day, and he and Chub
went to bed.
Chub was very much discouraged.
"I'm beginnin' to think that wasn't much of a tip, after all," he
grumbled, as he rolled into bed.
"Something may have happened to keep the man who wrote that first note
from showing his hand," hazarded Matt.
"Yes," returned Chub, "and something may have happened to him that will
keep him from showing his hand at all."
"You mean----"
"Why, that those two roughs who chased us may have taken care of that
fellow who wrote the first note. After we got away from them, those
scoundrels may have decided to put the other man out of the way. That
would keep the fellow from communicating with us, and it's a cinch
that's what those handy-boys were afraid of. Matt, I'd be willin' to
bet dad's gold-mine against a peck of marbles that we're side-tracked,
and won't be able to do a thing for Clip."
"We'll stay here, anyhow," said Matt doggedly, "and see it through.
I've got a hunch that something's going to turn up."
"But by stayin' here we may be losing time--and we haven't any time to
throw away."
"What could we do if we weren't here?" asked Matt.
"You've got me now. This business is getting on my nerves so that it's
hard for me to hold down a chair and wait. Feel like I wanted to be up
and moving."
"You can go back to Phoenix, if you want to," suggested Matt, "and
watch things there. I can hold down this end, all right."
"Not on your life!" declared Chub. "I'm goin' to stick to you tighter
than a woodtick. If anything _does_ happen here, maybe you'll need some
one about my heft and disposition to help."
"Then," said Matt decidedly, "we're going to stay right here until
something turns up. It's the only chance we've got to do anything for
Clip."
"It's a slim enough chance, at that, but I'll go you," and Chub turned
over and went to sleep.
Matt's resolution to remain in Prescott was somewhat shaken next
morning. As he and Chub left their room and walked out into the office
the clerk handed Matt a telegram.
"Just came," said the clerk.
Matt knew the message had something to do with Clip, and his hands
shook a little as he tore it open. It was a night-message, and had been
sent from Phoenix the preceding afternoon. It was from Short, and ran
as follows:
"Clipperton's case on Friday morning. No court Saturday. Will
probably go to jury Monday afternoon. Need you as witnesses."
Matt's face went white as he read the message and silently handed it to
Chub.
"They're making short work of poor old Clip," muttered Chub angrily.
"We've _got_ to cut loose from here now, haven't we?"
"I want to think about it," answered Matt, heading for the dining-room.