"Could you go there?"
"Easy."
"How far away is it?"
"About three miles."
"Good! Now let's go to bed and sleep—if we can. To-morrow," and Matt slapped his chum jubilantly on the shoulder, "we're going to do something for Clip. I had a hunch all the while that if we waited long enough something would come our way."
"We'll be making quick connections with that nine-o'clock train, Matt. It's Moody's run, too, and I was going back on the engine."
"This rain hasn't hurt the going any if the Hopewell tunnel is out along the road we followed into town. Even Clip's machine can turn those three miles in six minutes. That's twelve, going and coming, with a margin of eighteen at the tunnel. I'm feeling better to-night than at any time since we struck Prescott."
Contrary to his expectations, Matt slept, and slept well. He had been so loaded down with worry that this ray of hope brought him a feeling of intense relief. It was that, no doubt, that calmed his excited nerves and gave him some rest.
He was up bright and early and rousing Chub.
"Turn out, you little runt!" he laughed. "See what a nice, large morning we've got for our work. We're going to get in some good licks for Clip—I feel it in my bones."