The look of hurt pride flashed into Clipperton's face.
"He left me last night, Matt," said he. "I couldn't forget he was of my blood, low as he's dropped. I told him the gang was about done for; warned him to clear out. That's what he did. But he helped send up the smoke-signals."
"You did right, exactly right," approved Matt.
"Fine come-down for me, though," said Clip, through his teeth. "Nice family I've got! What's the use of trying to be somebody? Sometimes, I—I——"
A lawless light rose in Clip's eyes. Matt laid a friendly hand on his knee.
"You've got it in you to be whatever you want to make of yourself, pard," said he. "At least you know who your folks are, but I don't. I know that my name's not King, but if I'm square with myself and play the game fair, what's the odds? I hate a chap who thinks he's somebody just because his people amount to something; and I'd hate a fellow just as hard who thought he didn't amount to anything because his relatives weren't all he'd like to have them. The thing to do is to stand on your own feet, and that's the only thing!"
"It takes you to put heart into a fellow," returned Clip. "You've been a mighty good friend to Tom Clipperton. And in spite of his Indian blood. If it was known in Phœnix that my uncle——" Clip gulped on the words and did not finish.
"It will never be known there," said Matt.
"I know you'd keep still about it. If it got out in any other way, though, I'd never set foot in the town again."
"It won't get out, Clip, so let's forget it. You stayed in the ravine to wait for me?"