"There's the man we're waiting for!" cried Matt. "Come on! We'll meet him. I've got to have this acknowledged before that train gets here!"
Whether this was clear in Pima Pete's mind or not, was a question. But there was one thing too plain to escape him, and that was Matt's wild eagerness to get the work over with as soon as possible.
The two started down the road, Matt still on his machine and Pete running alongside. They could hear the low murmur of the rails, heralding the approach of the train, as they drew to a halt beside the man in the buggy.
"Well, if it ain't Matt King!" exclaimed the notary. "I wasn't expecting to meet you this side the old——"
"Quick!" shouted Matt, handing up the paper. "Acknowledge that. I've got to get it aboard this train."
"You can't," gasped the notary, "you——"
"I must!"
There was a compelling note in that "must" which caused the notary to jab his spectacles down on his nose and begin, in a rapid mumble, to read off what Matt had written. The document began: "I, Peter Sebastian, otherwise Pima Pete, formerly one of the Dangerfield gang of smugglers."
In the excitement of the moment it is quite likely that those ominous words did not strike the notary with their full meaning. At any rate, he did not cease his droning mumble. As he read, he laid the paper down on his lifted knee, humped over it, and mechanically pulled a fountain pen from his pocket. Equally as mechanically, and while he was still reading, he uncapped the point of the pen. His seal was on the seat beside him.
Matt pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket; also an empty envelope. He wanted to enclose the affidavit in a cover so as to safeguard the pencil-work.