"Of course," said Matt dryly. "Perry stands pretty high with you now, but there's going to be a change. You must know, Clipperton, that I have faith in you or I wouldn't be here to-night. It would be easy for you to have a gang in ambush and beat me up so I wouldn't be able to leave my bed for a week----" A snarl rushed from Clipperton's lips. "If you think I'm enough of an Indian to do that----" "I don't." "Didn't I trust you, too? You could have brought McReady along. Are you going to strip?" There was angry impatience in Clipperton's voice. "There was a mistake about that rock," Matt went on coolly. "It wasn't thrown at you, but at Perry." "Perry says different. That you threw it at me." "Perry is careless with the truth. Before we begin, let me give you your rabbit's foot. If you ever needed it, you're going to need it now." Matt held out his hand. Clipperton said something and recoiled a step; then, slowly, he advanced and took the luck-bringer from Matt's fingers. "Where'd you get this?" asked Clipperton. "It was found under the grand stand where you dropped it when you fired at my wheel." Clipperton was silent, standing rigid and erect in the moonlight. There was a queer gleam in his eyes as he fixed them on Matt. "How many have you told that to?" he demanded. "Not one. If I had, you wouldn't be in that mile run to-morrow." As Matt finished speaking Clipperton leaped forward abruptly. "Look out!" he called. Thinking Clipperton was going to attack him, Matt squared away and put up his hands. At that moment he was seized from behind and hurled to the ground. "Stand off!" he heard Clipperton yell furiously. "He's here to fight me! What does this----" "Shut up, you fool!" threatened a voice, and was followed by a rush of feet in Clipperton's direction. Matt was struggling with all his might, but there were four boys crushing him down and strangling him to prevent outcry. Who the boys were he could not see, as there were handkerchief masks over their faces. "Quick!" muttered a voice. "Where's that rope?" Matt was turned roughly on his face, several hands fumbling at his wrists and ankles and at least one pressing a cloth, soaked with some drug, to his nostrils. Presently, as in a dream, he felt himself lifted and borne hurriedly away. His senses were rapidly leaving him, and he had no idea as to what direction he was being taken. There was a mumble of voices in his ears and sounds of stumbling feet. Presently he was lifted and crumpled into a cushioned seat. A _chug chug_ of a starting engine came faintly to his ears, and he felt a swift forward movement of the seat on which he was lying. The cloth was still covering his face and stifling him. Then, a moment more, everything became a blank. CHAPTER XII. COOL VILLAINY.