"Double eagles. The payin'-teller at the bank'll tell you that's how I drawed the pay-roll money. Allers git it that way."
"Is it the same bag?"
"Waal, no, but it 'u'd be plumb easy ter change bags."
"If your bag was a good one, why would a change be made to that other one?" and Matt's eyes rested on the dingy canvas receptacle on the sheriff's desk.
"Give it up, pard. We got ter take things as we find 'em."
"I know, Matt," put in McKibben, "that you hate to think this of Clip even more than I do, but we've got a clean case against the boy. In the first place, he was in the red roadster when Fresnay told all of you he was coming to town after ten thousand in gold; then Clipperton gets into a disguise and walks into the hills—walks, mind you, so no one will guess who he is, which wouldn't have been hard if he'd taken the motor-cycle; and then he's bagged with the money and refuses to say a word about that note Pima Pete gave him, or how he came to be in the hills with the half-breed. It looks mighty bad for Clipperton, I can tell you that. I've sent for him, though, so as to have another talk with him. Glad you came. Maybe you can get him to say something. Ah, here he is now."
Just at that moment the door opened and Clip came into the room. He was handcuffed, and Leffingwell had a hand through his arm.
Matt and Chub got up and stepped toward their chum.
"Cheer up, old chum!" said Matt, taking Clip's hand. "We know you're innocent, and we're going to prove it."
"You bet we are!" declared Chub.