Clip hesitated.
"We're both of us going to help you out of this," went on Matt earnestly, "one way or another. But we can work better if Chub knows as much as I do."
"Tell him," said Clip. "But make him promise not to tell any one else. I'm not ashamed of my blood, but if they knew Pima Pete was my uncle they'd be more ready to fasten this onto me."
"That's a mistake, old fellow, and——"
"I've made up my mind!" The black eyes flashed. "If you and Chub find the real thieves, and get back the other ten thousand dollars, that would let me out. Nothing else will."
It was a terrible mistake Clip was making, but his nature had been so warped because of the treatment he had suffered on account of his Indian blood, that it was impossible for him to see the matter in the right light. Matt drew back, his face showing his intense disappointment.
"It was Dangerfield's money," said Clip to McKibben.
The sheriff did not believe the statement, and neither did Hogan nor Fresnay nor Leffingwell.
"Where did Dangerfield get all that money?" asked McKibben; "and why did he hide it like that?"
"Ask him," said Clip curtly. The looks on the faces of his inquisitors had brought his pride and defiance to the surface.