They descended the stairs quickly and let themselves out into the clear morning air.
Would Clip still allow his pride to stand between himself and freedom? He had told Matt that he would die before he would let any one in Phœnix know that Pima Pete was a relative of his. Could Clip explain matters satisfactorily by keeping his relationship with Pete in the background?
The sheriff was in his office, and with him were Hogan and Fresnay. Hogan's arm was hanging from his neck in a sling, and there was a strong smell of drugs in the room, proving that the arm had recently been dressed by a surgeon. Fresnay also had a few bruises, caused by his fall from the back of his horse.
On the sheriff's desk lay a dingy canvas bag and a greasy pouch of buckskin. There was a big pile of gold pieces stacked up by the canvas bag, and a smaller pile heaped up by the pouch.
"Hello, Matt!" called the sheriff, motioning both boys to chairs. "I felt pretty sure you'd show up. Tough luck, eh? But I was afraid of something like this when I called on you last night."
"Clip's innocent, Mr. McKibben," asserted Matt stoutly. "You've made a mistake, Fresnay," he added to the cowboy.
"Wisht I had, pard," answered Fresnay, "jest on yore account. Didn't know, till McKibben told me, that you was sich a great friend o' Clipperton's. But ye kain't dodge the facts, son."
"If you'd got a good look at the two who robbed you," went on Matt, "you'd have known at once that one of them wasn't Clip."
"I was kinder dazed, but them thieves looked like the half-breed and Clipperton. Anyways, we found 'em with the gold, an' that makes it a dead open-an'-shut."
"Is it the same gold?"