CHAPTER VIII.
THE RIFLED CACHE.
"Tough luck!" exclaimed Chub, looking over Matt's shoulder and readingthe message. "It never rains but it comes down in buckets."
"It _is_ tough, and no mistake," said McKibben. "I'm anxious to giveClipperton every chance, but he's his own worst enemy, and everythinggoes against him. Why, here I'm in starting on a wild-goose chase intothe hills, looking for that rifled cache where Clip says he dug upthe gold! Jump in, Matt, I want to take you with us. You, too, Chub;get into this other seat with me, for I'm not going to do the drivingmyself when there's such a crack chauffeur as Motor Matt along."
McKibben changed his seat, and Chub climbed in. Matt walked around tothe other side.
"What time is Clip's examination, Mr. McKibben?" he asked.
"Four o'clock this afternoon."
"I want to get back before the bank closes and in time to hire alawyer."
"I expect to get back here by eleven o'clock."
With that, Matt cranked up the machine, got in, and they started.
There was no tarrying on the road, for Matt was anxious to get back,and he had Leffingwell hanging to the rumble-seat with both hands halfthe time.
"You're going to look for the place where Clip and Pima Pete dug up themoney, Mr. McKibben?" asked Matt.
"For the place where Clip _says_ they dug it up," qualified the sheriff.
"He told you where to go?"
"Yes."
"And if you see the place you'll believe his story?"
"I'm not saying that, Matt. Clip and Pete may have dug the hole forsome other purpose, and Clip may have been smart enough to call thehole a cache, and to say Fresnay's money came out of it. By the way,"the sheriff went on, deftly changing the subject, "you were withDangerfield quite a while, that time you brought him in from CastleCreek Canyon. Was that the time he spoke about having buried that moneyand asked you to help dig it up?"
"I don't want to talk about that now, Mr. McKibben," answered Matt."There's a whole lot to it that concerns Clip, and I promised him Iwouldn't explain."
"You boys are keeping something back--I know that. If you want to getClip out of a bad hole, Matt, you don't want to keep anything back, nomatter what Clip says. You've got to help him in spite of himself. Thisis no time for false ideas of loyalty to a friend."
"What I know wouldn't clear Clip," said Matt, "although it wouldexplain a few things that are counting against him. I'm in honor boundto keep it quiet."
"Well," went on the sheriff, "have you any idea who Dangerfield's nextof kin is?"
"I understand that he has a father living in Emmetsburg, Iowa."
"Good enough! I'll wire that to Leavenworth."
Under McKibben's direction Matt brought the roadster to a stop closeto the place where Fresnay's saddle had turned while he was trying topick up Welcome during the stampede. Leaving the car in charge of Chub,Matt, McKibben, and Leffingwell got out, found the easiest place forclimbing the steep bank, and made their way westward into the uplifts.
As they proceeded, the sheriff eyed their surroundings keenly,apparently laying his course by landmarks about which Clip had toldhim. After fifteen minutes of scrambling among the rocks, McKibbenbrought his two companions to a halt at the foot of a rocky hill. Herethere was a hole about three feet deep with a heap of sand lying besideit. Close to the edge of the hole a dozen stones had been laid in theform of a cross.
"There you are Leffingwell," remarked McKibben. "What do you thinkabout it?"
"Some 'un was at work here," replied the deputy, "an' not very longago, at that."
"It was Clip and Pete," put in Matt, and pointed to the print of amoccasin and of a boot-sole in the soft sand at the side of the hole."Pima Pete wore moccasins."
"They dug up somethin' here, all right," commented Leffingwell, "butI'll bet somethin' handsome it wasn't money."
McKibben wandered around the vicinity of the hole for a few minutes andthen turned and started back toward the road.
"We've only Clipperton's word for it," said he, as he descended thebank to the car.
"And mine," added Matt.
"We'll never have Dangerfield's--now."
"Would Pima Pete's sworn statement help any?" asked Matt.
"It might, Matt; but just how much weight Pima Pete's affidavit wouldhave with a jury is a question."
On the homeward trip another halt was made at the place where Fresnayhad been robbed. The road was hard at this point, and the unyieldingearth had left no sign of what had taken place.
This was another disappointment for Matt. If the ground had been soft,_and no moccasin-tracks found_, a good point would have been scored forClip. But fate seemed to be working against Clip at almost every turn.
The party got back to Phoenix at half-past ten, and Matt and Chub leftthe car at the bank. Here Matt drew $200 of the money that had beenpaid to him as a reward for bringing in Dangerfield, and the boysproceeded at once to the office of a legal gentleman whom Clip declaredto be one of the best criminal-lawyers in Phoenix.
The man's name was Short, and, oddly enough, he stood over six feetin his stockings. He had a gimlet-eye and a hawklike face, and wasprofessionally brusk and brutally frank. But he had already heard ofClip's arrest, and, as everybody in town knew Motor Matt--who had beena good deal in the public eye during the preceding weeks--the lawyerlistened to the young motorist with attention.
"How much money have you got to spend on this, King?" queried thelawyer.
"I've got $900," said Matt, "but I'll need some of that for otherexpenses."
"What expenses?"
"I'll explain, Mr. Short, when you tell me whether or not you'll takethe case."
"The long and short of it is this: If we can't break down Clipperton'sstubbornness, and induce him to tell what he knows, he's a gonegosling. If I get him clear I want $500; if I lose--which seems aforegone conclusion--$250 will settle the bill."
"Here's a hundred on account," said Matt, and Short gave him a receiptand pocketed the money.
"Now, about the clues you have," said Short.
Matt showed the note received at the boarding-house that morning. Thelawyer examined it, puckered up his brows, and drummed on the desk withhis fingers.
"Not worth the paper it's written on," said he. "That's my opinion, butit seems to be the only clue we have, so you'd better follow it. I'llgo over and talk with Clipperton. Probably we'll waive examination.He'll be held to the circuit court, now in session, and the case willno doubt be taken right up. Are you prepared to furnish bail and getClipperton out for a few days? I wouldn't advise it. He might run."
"No danger of his running, Mr. Short," said Matt sharply. "Clip's asinnocent of that robbery as I am."
"That's my attitude--publicly; but to you, King, I'm frank. However,we'll do what we can. I don't want to lose out, for it means somethingto me if I win. You boys might go over with me to see Clipperton, andtry to get him in a receptive frame of mind. He ought not to keepanything from his lawyer."
The lawyer put on his hat and started for the door.
"How much bail will be required to get Clip out?" Matt asked.
"I think I can get it down to $5,000."
"I've got friends in town----"
"You bet you have!" declared Short; "Governor Gaynor, for instance."
"But the way everybody feels toward Clip, I can't ask any of my friendsto go on his bail."
"Just as well. I think the case will come to trial in two or threedays. The court is now sitting, and there's not much on the docket."
Mr. McKibben had got back to his office, and the necessary permit forthe boys and the lawyer to see Clipperton was quickly obtained.
Clip was a forlorn-looking figure, sitting in his cell with arms foldedand head bent. Matt's sympathy went out to him, and, after introducingthe lawyer, he slapped him encouragingly on the shoulder and begged himto go into details as much as he could.
Clip was grateful to Matt, and showed it, but not
even to Short wouldhe give the true inwardness of the affair. Matt did not tell Clip aboutthe note received through Mrs. Spooner, thinking he might imagine ithad something to do with Pima Pete, and shut down on having the cluefollowed.
When they left the jail Short was tempted to withdraw from the case."What can we do for a fellow who won't help himself?" he demanded, outof patience.
Matt prevailed on him, however, to do what he could, and the boys lefthim at the foot of the stairs leading up to his office.
"We're up against it, pard," remarked Chub gloomily, as he and Mattwent off down the street. "I'm no knocker, but hanging out like this isthe worst kind of foolishness on Clip's part. He's crazy, to act likehe's doing. McKibben knew his business when he told you to do what youthought best, and never mind Clip."
"Get that out of your head, Chub," said Matt. "We've got to win thisgame for Clip on the lines he has laid down. When will you be ready tostart for Prescott?"
"Just as soon as I can tell sis, eat my dinner, and pick up Clip'smotor-cycle."
"All right. When you're ready come around to Mrs. Spooner's."
The two chums separated. Matt, profoundly dissatisfied with the courseof events, took his way toward his boarding-house. As if he had notalready had enough to discourage him, Mrs. Spooner, tremendouslyexcited, met him in the hall with another letter.
"The same greaser brought this 'un that brought the other, Matt," sheexplained. "I didn't like his looks any too well, but I tried to gethim to tell his name, knowin' how curious ye was about it. He was thatunmannerly, though, he jest bolted right off'n the front steps."
"It doesn't make any difference, Mrs. Spooner," said Matt, "for I don'tthink it amounts to much."
Matt went on up-stairs, and in the privacy of his room examined theletter. It was better written and better spelled than the other notehad been, and was plainly from another hand; but there was no namesigned and no other clue to the sender.
The contents, however, were surprising.
"If you start for Prescott you'll never get there alive. Take a fool's advice and keep away."
Matt was amazed. Evidently that first communication was of someimportance, or the present writer would never have taken the trouble tosend such a threat.
So far from being intimidated, a steely glint came into Matt's eyes,and his square jaw set resolutely.
"Chub and I are going to Prescott," he muttered, "and I guess we cantake care of all the trouble that comes our way."
Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the Comet Page 8
