Chapter VIII: The Rifled Cache

"Tough luck!" exclaimed Chub, looking over Matt's shoulder and reading the message. "It never rains but it comes down in buckets."

"It _is_ tough, and no mistake," said McKibben. "I'm anxious to give Clipperton every chance, but he's his own worst enemy, and everything goes against him. Why, here I'm in starting on a wild-goose chase into the hills, looking for that rifled cache where Clip says he dug up the gold! Jump in, Matt, I want to take you with us. You, too, Chub; get into this other seat with me, for I'm not going to do the driving myself when there's such a crack chauffeur as Motor Matt along."

McKibben changed his seat, and Chub climbed in. Matt walked around to the other side.

"What time is Clip's examination, Mr. McKibben?" he asked.

"Four o'clock this afternoon."

"I want to get back before the bank closes and in time to hire a lawyer."

"I expect to get back here by eleven o'clock."

With that, Matt cranked up the machine, got in, and they started.

There was no tarrying on the road, for Matt was anxious to get back, and he had Leffingwell hanging to the rumble-seat with both hands half the time.

"You're going to look for the place where Clip and Pima Pete dug up the money, Mr. McKibben?" asked Matt.

"For the place where Clip _says_ they dug it up," qualified the sheriff.

"He told you where to go?"

"Yes."

"And if you see the place you'll believe his story?"

"I'm not saying that, Matt. Clip and Pete may have dug the hole for some other purpose, and Clip may have been smart enough to call the hole a cache, and to say Fresnay's money came out of it. By the way," the sheriff went on, deftly changing the subject, "you were with Dangerfield quite a while, that time you brought him in from Castle Creek Cañon. Was that the time he spoke about having buried that money and asked you to help dig it up?"

"I don't want to talk about that now, Mr. McKibben," answered Matt. "There's a whole lot to it that concerns Clip, and I promised him I wouldn't explain."

"You boys are keeping something back--I know that. If you want to get Clip out of a bad hole, Matt, you don't want to keep anything back, no matter what Clip says. You've got to help him in spite of himself. This is no time for false ideas of loyalty to a friend."

"What I know wouldn't clear Clip," said Matt, "although it would explain a few things that are counting against him. I'm in honor bound to keep it quiet."

"Well," went on the sheriff, "have you any idea who Dangerfield's next of kin is?"

"I understand that he has a father living in Emmetsburg, Iowa."

"Good enough! I'll wire that to Leavenworth."

Under McKibben's direction Matt brought the roadster to a stop close to the place where Fresnay's saddle had turned while he was trying to pick up Welcome during the stampede. Leaving the car in charge of Chub, Matt, McKibben, and Leffingwell got out, found the easiest place for climbing the steep bank, and made their way westward into the uplifts.

As they proceeded, the sheriff eyed their surroundings keenly, apparently laying his course by landmarks about which Clip had told him. After fifteen minutes of scrambling among the rocks, McKibben brought his two companions to a halt at the foot of a rocky hill. Here there was a hole about three feet deep with a heap of sand lying beside it. Close to the edge of the hole a dozen stones had been laid in the form of a cross.

"There you are Leffingwell," remarked McKibben. "What do you think about it?"

"Some 'un was at work here," replied the deputy, "an' not very long ago, at that."

"It was Clip and Pete," put in Matt, and pointed to the print of a moccasin and of a boot-sole in the soft sand at the side of the hole. "Pima Pete wore moccasins."

"They dug up somethin' here, all right," commented Leffingwell, "but I'll bet somethin' handsome it wasn't money."

McKibben wandered around the vicinity of the hole for a few minutes and then turned and started back toward the road.

"We've only Clipperton's word for it," said he, as he descended the bank to the car.

"And mine," added Matt.

"We'll never have Dangerfield's--now."

"Would Pima Pete's sworn statement help any?" asked Matt.

"It might, Matt; but just how much weight Pima Pete's affidavit would have with a jury is a question."

On the homeward trip another halt was made at the place where Fresnay had been robbed. The road was hard at this point, and the unyielding earth had left no sign of what had taken place.

This was another disappointment for Matt. If the ground had been soft, _and no moccasin-tracks found_, a good point would have been scored for Clip. But fate seemed to be working against Clip at almost every turn.

The party got back to Phoenix at half-past ten, and Matt and Chub left the car at the bank. Here Matt drew $200 of the money that had been paid to him as a reward for bringing in Dangerfield, and the boys proceeded at once to the office of a legal gentleman whom Clip declared to be one of the best criminal-lawyers in Phoenix.

The man's name was Short, and, oddly enough, he stood over six feet in his stockings. He had a gimlet-eye and a hawklike face, and was professionally brusk and brutally frank. But he had already heard of Clip's arrest, and, as everybody in town knew Motor Matt--who had been a good deal in the public eye during the preceding weeks--the lawyer listened to the young motorist with attention.

"How much money have you got to spend on this, King?" queried the lawyer.

"I've got $900," said Matt, "but I'll need some of that for other expenses."

"What expenses?"

"I'll explain, Mr. Short, when you tell me whether or not you'll take the case."

"The long and short of it is this: If we can't break down Clipperton's stubbornness, and induce him to tell what he knows, he's a gone gosling. If I get him clear I want $500; if I lose--which seems a foregone conclusion--$250 will settle the bill."

"Here's a hundred on account," said Matt, and Short gave him a receipt and pocketed the money.

"Now, about the clues you have," said Short.

Matt showed the note received at the boarding-house that morning. The lawyer examined it, puckered up his brows, and drummed on the desk with his fingers.

"Not worth the paper it's written on," said he. "That's my opinion, but it seems to be the only clue we have, so you'd better follow it. I'll go over and talk with Clipperton. Probably we'll waive examination. He'll be held to the circuit court, now in session, and the case will no doubt be taken right up. Are you prepared to furnish bail and get Clipperton out for a few days? I wouldn't advise it. He might run."

"No danger of his running, Mr. Short," said Matt sharply. "Clip's as innocent of that robbery as I am."

"That's my attitude--publicly; but to you, King, I'm frank. However, we'll do what we can. I don't want to lose out, for it means something to me if I win. You boys might go over with me to see Clipperton, and try to get him in a receptive frame of mind. He ought not to keep anything from his lawyer."

The lawyer put on his hat and started for the door.

"How much bail will be required to get Clip out?" Matt asked.

"I think I can get it down to $5,000."

"I've got friends in town----"

"You bet you have!" declared Short; "Governor Gaynor, for instance."

"But the way everybody feels toward Clip, I can't ask any of my friends to go on his bail."

"Just as well. I think the case will come to trial in two or three days. The court is now sitting, and there's not much on the docket."

Mr. McKibben had got back to his office, and the necessary permit for the boys and the lawyer to see Clipperton was quickly obtained.

Clip was a forlorn-looking figure, sitting in his cell with arms folded and head bent. Matt's sympathy went out to him, and, after introducing the lawyer, he slapped him encouragingly on the shoulder and begged him to go into details as much as he could.

Clip was grateful to Matt, and showed it, but not even to Short would he give the true inwardness of the affair. Matt did not tell Clip about the note received through Mrs. Spooner, thinking he might imagine it had something to do with Pima Pete, and shut down on having the clue followed.

When they left the jail Short was tempted to withdraw from the case. "What can we do for a fellow who won't help himself?" he demanded, out of patience.

Matt prevailed on him, however, to do what he could, and the boys left him at the foot of the stairs leading up to his office.

"We're up against it, pard," remarked Chub gloomily, as he and Matt went off down the street. "I'm no knocker, but hanging out like this is the worst kind of foolishness on Clip's part. He's crazy, to act like he's doing. McKibben knew his business when he told you to do what you thought best, and never mind Clip."

"Get that out of your head, Chub," said Matt. "We've got to win this game for Clip on the lines he has laid down. When will you be ready to start for Prescott?"

"Just as soon as I can tell sis, eat my dinner, and pick up Clip's motor-cycle."

"All right. When you're ready come around to Mrs. Spooner's."

The two chums separated. Matt, profoundly dissatisfied with the course of events, took his way toward his boarding-house. As if he had not already had enough to discourage him, Mrs. Spooner, tremendously excited, met him in the hall with another letter.

"The same greaser brought this 'un that brought the other, Matt," she explained. "I didn't like his looks any too well, but I tried to get him to tell his name, knowin' how curious ye was about it. He was that unmannerly, though, he jest bolted right off'n the front steps."

"It doesn't make any difference, Mrs. Spooner," said Matt, "for I don't think it amounts to much."

Matt went on up-stairs, and in the privacy of his room examined the letter. It was better written and better spelled than the other note had been, and was plainly from another hand; but there was no name signed and no other clue to the sender.

The contents, however, were surprising.

"If you start for Prescott you'll never get there alive. Take a
fool's advice and keep away."

Matt was amazed. Evidently that first communication was of some importance, or the present writer would never have taken the trouble to send such a threat.

So far from being intimidated, a steely glint came into Matt's eyes, and his square jaw set resolutely.

"Chub and I are going to Prescott," he muttered, "and I guess we can take care of all the trouble that comes our way."