"What Perry is doing doesn't make any difference with what we're to do, Chub," said Matt. "Clip is only a tool of Perry's, and some day he's going to find out how he's being made a catspaw. When that time comes, Perry will have a little trouble on his own hands."
"All right, Matt," said Chub, getting up, "have it your own way. It's pretty near supper-time, and I've got to hike. Will you be over this evening? Maybe I'll get into communication with Delray, up at the Bluebell."
"If I get time I may run over," answered Matt, "but don't look for me."
Just as Chub was about to lay his hand on the door-knob a knock fell on the panel. He opened the door and found Mrs. Spooner, the landlady, outside. There was an odd look on Mrs. Spooner's face.
"There's a man down-stairs as wants to see Matt," said she. "He come in one of them gasoline wagons, an' Matt may be as surprised to hear as I am to tell him that it's—Hawley, the gambler!"
Mrs. Spooner's voice sank to a frightened whisper.
"Dirk Hawley!" muttered Chub, staring at Matt. "Sugar, what in tunket can the blackleg want with you?"
Matt was as much surprised as were Mrs. Spooner and Chub. He did not even know the man, although he had seen him many times, and had heard a good deal about him that was not to his credit.
"I'm puzzled to know why he's coming to see me," muttered Matt, taking a look at the motor-car through the window. "Have him walk up, Mrs. Spooner, and I'll find out what he wants."