to Matt in a twinkling.

"Naturally," resumed the sheriff, taking a whole lot for granted, "you wouldn't know Pima Pete from Adam, but Clip might know him. Anyhow, on the supposition that Fresnay's suspicions were well grounded, I have sent a couple of deputies out into the hills to look for the half-breed; but I'd like a little more information, if I could get it. There's another point, too, which looks a little bit queer, in case Fresnay has got it right. He said he saw the half-breed hand Clipperton something that looked like a scrap of paper. Fresnay may have been wrong in this—I hope he is—for if the half-breed really proves to be Pima Pete, that note business will have an ugly look for your chum. See? What I want you to do, Matt, is to find Clip, if you can, and send him to me. I've only got the boy's best interests at heart, and I want to talk with him. A little heart-to-heart talk, just now, might save him some trouble."

McKibben got up.

"I reckon that's all," he finished, moving toward the door. "If you can find Clipperton you'll ask him to come and see me?"

"Yes," answered Matt.

Just then he was in a situation that was mighty unpleasant. How was he going to play square with the sheriff and at the same time be loyal to Clipperton? Certainly he could not tell what he knew about Clipperton and Pima Pete.

As soon as the sheriff had gone, and the front door of the house had closed behind him, Clip emerged from the closet. His face was set and stern as he confronted Matt.

"Fresnay has made much trouble!" muttered Clip. "He recognized my uncle. And he saw him smuggle that note into my hand. More than that, two deputies are in the hills looking for Pima Pete."

Clip scowled his dissatisfaction over the prospect.

"You can see, old chap," said Matt, "what it means to tangle up with Pima Pete in this business of Dangerfield's. Cut Pima Pete out. It isn't safe for you to have anything more to do with him."

"You needn't, Matt. You can't, after this. But I've got to. Pima Pete's my uncle. Blood's thicker than water, even if it is Indian blood." The fiercely resentful look gleamed in Clip's eyes. "Pima Pete came here on Dangerfield's business. But for that, he'd have been across the border and safe by now. I'll see him to-night and warn him to clear out."

"Clip," said Matt, in a low, earnest tone, "if you'll take my advice you won't go near Pima Pete, but you'll go to the sheriff and make a clean breast of the whole thing."

Clip made a gesture of savage dissent.

"If it was your uncle," said he, with a bitter note in his voice, "you'd see this thing differently. Suppose Pima Pete's captured and brought in here. Suppose it becomes known he's a relative of mine—he, one of Dangerfield's gang!" Clip's eyes became points of flame, and his breath came hard and fast. "Why," and his voice was husky and thick with passion as he spoke, "they might try to take me out of the public school and send me to the Indian school. I've—I've stood all I can on account of my blood. I'm not ashamed of it!" His head went up again and his shoulders went back proudly. "But I'm not going to be an object of contempt for the whites of this town. At the high school they've been trying to down me because I'm part Indian. They couldn't have treated me worse if I'd been a nigger. You were my only friend." His voice softened. "You have made friends for me. Now I'm not going to lose all I've gained by having Pima Pete brought in, and letting everybody know what he is to me. Besides, he's my uncle. I'm not going to turn my back on him while he's in trouble."

Clip's words came whisperingly, but with an undernote of firmness and determination there was no shaking.

Matt was in a quandary. He could see Clip's side of the question, and he knew how resolute he always was when he had made up his mind to a certain course.

"Look here," said Matt, "you go and see the sheriff. Tell him everything. He's a good friend of mine, and of yours, and he'll respect your confidence. While you're doing that, I'll get onto the Comet, go out into the hills, and warn Pima Pete myself. It will be safer for me than for you."

Clip stared at Matt for a moment, then walked up to him and gripped his hand.

"That's like you," he returned. "But it won't do. If there's danger in meeting Pima Pete, it's my danger. Besides, it's my duty. Another thing. I'll not tell McKibben, nor any one else, what Pima Pete is to me. I'll die first. And as long as you're my friend, you'll not breathe a whisper of it to any one."

The last words were spoken slowly and deliberately.

"No matter what happens, Matt, that shot goes as it lays," went on Clip. "I'm going to see Pima Pete and warn him. I'll start as soon as I leave here. But I'll put on some other clothes so no one will know me. And I won't take my motor-cycle. That would be a give-away. I'll walk."

Matt hardly knew what to do.

"If it wasn't for that confounded note," he muttered, "this business would have a different look. I didn't think Fresnay saw that."

"He said he'd be a friend of ours," frowned Clip gloomily. "Now he's making me trouble."

"Fresnay meant well. He thought he was doing the right thing to carry his suspicions to the sheriff. In any other circumstances, Clip, you'd have done the same thing, and so would I. I'll go with you out there. Then, if anything should come of it, I'll have something to say. Governor Gaynor is a friend of mine, and so is McKibben. I'm sure they'd both of them listen to me."

Clip shook his head.

"I'll do this alone. I'm not going to ring you in. If I ever meant anything in my life I mean that. You say you're a friend of mine. Then prove it by staying right here in town. Don't say anything about me to any one. That's all, Matt."

Clip glided to the door, opened it softly, and made a cautious survey of the stairway and the hall.

"The coast is clear," he whispered, turning back for a moment, "and I can get out without being seen. Good-by, pard."

"So-long, Clip."

Clip vanished from the room. Matt, looking from the front window, saw him emerge from the house and start for a back street on his way to the Mexican quarter. His Indian blood never showed in him more than it did then. There was savage wariness in every movement.

Heavy-hearted and full of foreboding, Matt dropped into a chair. His judgment told him that Clip ought not to go into the hills, but there was no way Matt could prevent it. His hands were tied.

For an hour Matt sat in his chair; then, for an hour longer, he paced the floor. After that he tried to read, but his gloomy thoughts would give him no peace.

It was about nine o'clock when he pulled covers, but for a long time he could only toss about sleeplessly and think of Clip. He heard the clock in the court-house tower chime the hours up to midnight, and then dropped into heavy slumber.

The gray dawn was looking in at his windows when he was aroused. Somebody was pounding on his door. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he jumped up, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

Chub McReady staggered in. His face was gray in the dim light, and he was breathless from running and excitement.

"What do you think, Matt?" he puffed. "Clip's been arrested. He's over in the jail, now."

CHAPTER V.

A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCES.

"Arrested!"

Matt staggered back and dropped on the edge of the bed.

"That's right! Don't it knock you slabsided? Clip! Think of it! I've been on the blink ever since I heard it. Welcome was up early this mornin' and he saw 'em passin' the house, taking Clip to jail. Hogan and Leffingwell, two of McKibben's deputies, had him. And Hogan's arm was in a sling—he'd been shot."

"Not by Clip!"