"No savvy."
"Clip don't want you to come to Phœnix," said Matt. "If his lawyer can make the jury believe that you and he really dug up that gold, and that it was Dangerfield's, there's a chance. Understand?"
"We dug um, sure!" declared Pima Pete.
An idea rushed through Matt's head, an idea that called for quick work.
"If I write that out, Pete," he continued, speaking quickly, "will you make oath that it's correct."
"Make um swear? Sure. But how me swear, huh?"
"We'll have to bring a man out here——"
"No!" cried Pete, and drew back. "Me all same worth one thousan' dol'. You bring um man, he ketch um Pete. Huh! Muy malo! No like um."
"There'll be only one man, Pete," begged Matt, "and he couldn't capture you. Remember," he added solemnly, "if you don't make an affidavit there's nothing can save Clip!"
Pima Pete straightened up. His mind was none too keen, and he frowned as he thought the matter over. "Hurry!" urged Matt. "We haven't any time to lose. Clip saved your life when the deputy sheriff was going to shoot at you. Now's your chance to do something for him."