Chapter X: Prescott

Not again did the boys see their pursuers, and for five minutes they kept up their swift pace. When finally sure that they were safe, they slowed down their machines.

"Didn't you ever get rattled, Matt?" asked Chub.

"Lots of times, old fellow," laughed Matt.

"Well, if you'd got rattled back there at the break in the road little Reddy McReady would have been raked in too easy for any use. Those two roughs were dead set on getting us. Must be something mighty important ahead of us in Prescott or they wouldn't have tried so hard to hold us back."

"I'm getting more confidence in that first note all the time," declared Matt.

"That's the way I stack up. It was a regular raw blazer of a play, though, the way those fellows came at us. But they'd laid their plans pretty well. Where they missed was in not riding out into the trail ahead of us instead of behind."

"That wasn't a miss," said Matt, "that was a part of their plan. They had taken up the planks across that break in the road, and thought they'd chase us to the chasm and stop us there."

"I'll bet the air is some blue around where those two fellows are now," laughed Chub. "But put me wise to this: How did they know we were intending to go to Prescott on our motor-cycles?"

"That's too many for me, Chub. There's been quite a lot going on in Phoenix that I can't understand. The same Mexican delivered both notes to Mrs. Spooner, and it looks as though the two men who robbed Fresnay had been staying in the town, and at the same place where the fellow who wrote the first note was hanging out."

"If we'd had time to look up that Mexican----"

"Couldn't have found him in a thousand years from Mrs. Spooner's description. If I'd been at home when he brought that second note, he wouldn't have got away until he had told me a few things."

"My thinkin'-apparatus is all kinked up over the whole business," puzzled Chub, "but it looks like those two handy-boys are playing the game all by themselves. One of them wrote that warning and sent it to us, then picked up his partner and slid for the hills in order to stop us if the note didn't scare us out. They're the robbers, Matt; they're the ones that lifted Fresnay's money, all right."

"Then what do they want to keep us away from Prescott for?" queried Matt. "They needn't worry about themselves. With two good horses, and their freedom, and ten thousand in gold, they could start for Mexico. Whatever we can do in Prescott needn't bother them."

"Maybe they're not able to clear out just yet."

All the speculations of the chums regarding the two notes, and the men who had recently tried to stop them, were mere guesswork. Giving up their attempt to probe the mystery, they set themselves to the task of reaching Prescott as soon as possible.

At Skull Valley, a place consisting of only half a dozen houses and the railroad-station, they halted just long enough to eat a hurried meal. There was the chance, if they tarried too long, that their enemies might attempt to get ahead of them on the road they were still to cover.

When they had finished eating, the boys went over their machines, tightened a few bolts, lighted their lamps--it was beginning to get dark--then mounted and hurried on.

From Skull Valley north they found the worst part of the road. It was on low ground, and boggy. During the present dry weather the road was passably good, but after a rain it would have been difficult for wagons to travel it, to say nothing of motor-cycles.

For the most of the way the trail tried to follow the railroad-track, dipping under high trestles and angling back and forth across the rails. It was poor up to within half a dozen miles of Prescott, and then, abruptly, it became like an asphalt boulevard, level with the track and smooth and clean right up to the ends of the ties.

It was nearly nine o'clock in the evening when the boys reached this good stretch of road, and their lamps, streaming out ahead, showed it to them clearly.

"Mighty good going for a motor-cycle race," said Chub.

"And a fine place for racing a limited train," added Matt, his mind running on the possibilities of steam versus gasoline.

"Say," said Chub, "I'd like to see the _Comet_ splurging along by Jack Moody's big Baldwin, with Moody late and making up time! Whoo-ee! That would be a race! When Moody's behind his schedule you'd think a wildman was at the throttle."

Although the boys did not dream of it at the time, yet this talk of theirs was prophetic.

Presently the motor-cycles glided over a low hill, covered a couple of miles of level road, crossed the track, and entered the town of Prescott.

Chub, who had been in Prescott several times, knew the location of the Briggs House, and led the way directly there. They registered, secured a room on the ground floor, and, in order to make sure there would be no tampering with their machines, trundled them into the room where they would be constantly under their eyes or else behind a locked door.

The motor-cycles were looked over and taken care of, and then the boys, tired out with their trip, tumbled into bed and fell asleep.

They were up in time for breakfast, and were eagerly expecting something to happen. It was Thursday, the day specified in the note which had been so mysteriously delivered at Mrs. Spooner's.

Following breakfast, they sat around the hotel office, impatient and with every faculty on the alert.

Noon came, and they had dinner, then the afternoon waned, and they had supper. No one came near them to broach anything connected with the particular business that had brought them to Prescott. By eleven o'clock Matt gave up hope of hearing anything that day, and he and Chub went to bed.

Chub was very much discouraged.

"I'm beginnin' to think that wasn't much of a tip, after all," he grumbled, as he rolled into bed.

"Something may have happened to keep the man who wrote that first note from showing his hand," hazarded Matt.

"Yes," returned Chub, "and something may have happened to him that will keep him from showing his hand at all."

"You mean----"

"Why, that those two roughs who chased us may have taken care of that fellow who wrote the first note. After we got away from them, those scoundrels may have decided to put the other man out of the way. That would keep the fellow from communicating with us, and it's a cinch that's what those handy-boys were afraid of. Matt, I'd be willin' to bet dad's gold-mine against a peck of marbles that we're side-tracked, and won't be able to do a thing for Clip."

"We'll stay here, anyhow," said Matt doggedly, "and see it through. I've got a hunch that something's going to turn up."

"But by stayin' here we may be losing time--and we haven't any time to throw away."

"What could we do if we weren't here?" asked Matt.

"You've got me now. This business is getting on my nerves so that it's hard for me to hold down a chair and wait. Feel like I wanted to be up and moving."

"You can go back to Phoenix, if you want to," suggested Matt, "and watch things there. I can hold down this end, all right."

"Not on your life!" declared Chub. "I'm goin' to stick to you tighter than a woodtick. If anything _does_ happen here, maybe you'll need some one about my heft and disposition to help."

"Then," said Matt decidedly, "we're going to stay right here until something turns up. It's the only chance we've got to do anything for Clip."

"It's a slim enough chance, at that, but I'll go you," and Chub turned over and went to sleep.

Matt's resolution to remain in Prescott was somewhat shaken next morning. As he and Chub left their room and walked out into the office the clerk handed Matt a telegram.

"Just came," said the clerk.

Matt knew the message had something to do with Clip, and his hands shook a little as he tore it open. It was a night-message, and had been sent from Phoenix the preceding afternoon. It was from Short, and ran as follows:

"Clipperton's case on Friday morning. No court Saturday. Will
probably go to jury Monday afternoon. Need you as witnesses."

Matt's face went white as he read the message and silently handed it to Chub.

"They're making short work of poor old Clip," muttered Chub angrily. "We've _got_ to cut loose from here now, haven't we?"

"I want to think about it," answered Matt, heading for the dining-room.