"Oh, no, I guess nod!" taunted Carl, pulling Pringle's hands to his back and getting busy with the rope. "You vas a fine sbecimen oof a tinhorn, hey. Wienerwurst! Vell, I vas more oof a hot tamale as dot, hey?"
"What do you want to knock a partner like this for, Dutch?" demanded Pringle. "Just because I had to pull my freight without getting your permission? Aw, you make me tired!"
"See here," said Matt sharply, as Pringle was made to get into the tonneau, "there's no use of your trying to play possum with us, Pringle. We know all about what you've done—not only to Carl, but to Tomlinson. You'll go to Yuma, all right. Just now we're going to take you to Ash Fork and leave you, and the pearls, with the deputy sheriff."
This announcement took the wind out of Pringle's sails. The white ran into his face, and he sank back and stared helplessly from Carl to Matt.
At that moment the pounding of a motor was heard along the road in the direction of Ash Fork. In that region, where automobiles were few and far between, the sound claimed Matt's instant attention.
The other car was coming like the wind. It was a high-powered runabout with a single rumble-seat behind. There were two passengers—one a big man in cap and dust-coat, and the other a businesslike driver in leather fixings and goggles.
The runabout was new, as could easily be seen, and there was an extra tire in irons at the driver's side.
At that point in the road passing was easy, and the runabout surged by without decreasing speed.
"Look out ahead!" shouted Matt, making a trumpet of his hands.