"Not on your life!" declared Chub. "I'm goin' to stick to you tighter than a woodtick. If anything does happen here, maybe you'll need some one about my heft and disposition to help."
"Then," said Matt decidedly, "we're going to stay right here until something turns up. It's the only chance we've got to do anything for Clip."
"It's a slim enough chance, at that, but I'll go you," and Chub turned over and went to sleep.
Matt's resolution to remain in Prescott was somewhat shaken next morning. As he and Chub left their room and walked out into the office the clerk handed Matt a telegram.
"Just came," said the clerk.
Matt knew the message had something to do with Clip, and his hands shook a little as he tore it open. It was a night-message, and had been sent from Phœnix the preceding afternoon. It was from Short, and ran as follows:
"Clipperton's case on Friday morning. No court Saturday. Will probably go to jury Monday afternoon. Need you as witnesses."
Matt's face went white as he read the message and silently handed it to Chub.
"They're making short work of poor old Clip," muttered Chub angrily. "We've got to cut loose from here now, haven't we?"
"I want to think about it," answered Matt, heading for the dining-room.