"Good all the way?"
"In dry weather. When it's wet there are whole miles of trail where the motor-cycle would mire clear to the forks. We could go on the train, though, if you wanted to. I know Jack Moody, one of the engineers. He runs up to Ash Fork in the afternoon and comes back the next afternoon; but whether his run's to-day or not I don't know."
"It's better to use the motor-cycles. I haven't given the Comet a real spin since I took that hundred-mile run for the governor."
"Then we'll take the wheels and start this afternoon. But look here, Matt. I think a lot of Clip, but he's actin' mighty like he belongs in the foolish-house, seems to me. It wouldn't hurt him much if he told everything he knew—and it mightn't get him out of the scrape, either, but it would help, that's a cinch."
"Clip's a mighty queer fellow, and I don't know that I can blame him for feeling like he does. You know how pretty near everybody has thrown it into him here in Phœnix, because he's part Indian. He's trying to do the square thing, and it hurts. Now, just as he's getting the better of that prejudice, if it came out that Pima Pete, one of the Dangerfield gang, was a relative of his, that would be like turning the knife in an old wound. Clip's got a lot of pride, and he feels as though he wanted to do everything he could for Pima Pete. It's possible he'll go to prison before he opens his head about Pete; unless——"
Matt hesitated.
"Unless what?" asked Chub.
"Why, unless you and I can find the real robbers and the other bag of gold."
"It's a big order," said Chub.
"I've been filling big orders lately," smiled Matt, "and I'd tackle anything if there was a chance of helping Clip."