"He sell um cattle two month ago. Money heap heavy, him no like to carry um. Odder ombrays in gang mebbyso they get bad hearts, want to take um. Dangerfield say, 'Pete, we bury um; anyt'ing happen to me, you savvy where to find um' Ugh! me help Dangerfield bury um. He t'ink mebbyso when we ride to Mexico from Tinaja Wells, he dig up gold. But him captured. You savvy. Dangerfield send um note by big dog to Pima Pete, say for him, bymby, have Motor Matt take um money, send some to Emmetsburg, Iowa, Motor Matt keep some, Clipperton keep some. Whoosh! Him bad business. No win out."
"And you will swear that all of Dangerfield's money was in gold double eagles, and that there was just ten thousand dollars of it?"
"Sure!"
Matt's pencil traveled rapidly over the paper. He was careful, however, to make the writing plain and to bear down hard.
"What's your real name, Pete?" asked Matt.
"Huh?"
Matt repeated the question.
"All same Sebastian," said the half-breed, catching Matt's drift, "Pete Sebastian, but me like um Pima Pete better."
Matt went back to the beginning of the affidavit and put in the full name, then dropped farther down and resumed his writing. Presently it was finished, and Matt looked at his watch. It was a quarter past nine!
What if Jack Moody, Matt suddenly asked himself, had made up some of his lost time? What if the train was already whipping along the rails on its way out of Prescott?