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Updated: May 19, 2025
If he confessed the truth he would not only have a man-sized job trying to escape from the posse, but he would have to flee before he had a chance to deal finally with Sandersen. Chiefly he wanted time. He wanted a chance to study Sandersen. The fellow had spoken for him like a man, but Sinclair was suspicious.
Five minutes later the animals were up to their knees in the muddy water, and the men were floundering breast deep, drinking, drinking, drinking. After that they sat about the brink staring at one another in a stunned fashion. There seemed no joy in that delivery, for some reason. "I guess Sinclair will be a pretty happy gent when he sees us coming back," said Sandersen, smiling faintly.
The four waited, with their hands settled high up on the rope, ready for the tug which would swing Gaspar halfway to his Maker. "We're kind of pushed for time, ourselves," said Riley. "So hurry it on, Gaspar." Bill Sandersen was a cold man, but such unbelievable heartlessness chilled him. Into his mind rushed a temptation suddenly to denounce the real slayer before them all.
Riley Sinclair's words brought a flash from Arizona, a sudden lifting of the head, as if he had not before thought of hoping. Then he began to slump back into his former position, without a reply. Sinclair followed his opening advantage at once. "What you in for?" "Murder!" "Great guns! Of whom?" "Sandersen." It brought Sinclair stiffly to his feet. Sandersen!
"If there are any directions to give Cold Feet, I'll give 'em. It was me that took him!" No direct answer could Arizona find to this true statement, and, as always when a man is at a loss for words, his temper rose, and his fists clenched. For the first time he looked at Sandersen with an eye of savage calculation. He had come to hope of a tidy little fortune.
How could Sinclair attack a man who had just defended him from a terrible charge? It could not be. For the moment, at least, Sandersen felt he was safe. In the future, many things might happen. At the very least, he had gained a priceless postponement of the catastrophe.
So he kept on until his shadow fell faintly on his path before him, long, shapeless, grotesque. He turned and saw the moon coming up above the eastern mountains, a wan, sickly moon hardly out of her first quarter, and even in the pure mountain air her light was dim. But it gave thought and pause to Sandersen.
Montana, you'd ought to have masked your neck and your Adam's apple sooner'n your face. And you're Bill Sandersen. They ain't any other man in these parts that stands on one heel and points his off toe like a horse with a sore leg. I know you all, and, if you touch a hair on Jig's head, I'll have you into court for murder! You hear murder! I'll have you hung, every man jack!"
"The jury's job," explained Sandersen, "is to listen to everything and not say nothing, but think all the time. You'll do your talking in one little bunch when you say guilty or not guilty. Now we're ready to start. Gaspar, stand up!" Denver Jim officiously dragged the schoolteacher to his feet. "What's your name?" "Name?" asked the bewildered Gaspar. "Why, everybody knows my name!"
He seemed to feel the eyes of Sandersen upon him, for presently he turned to the other. "What good's a coward to the world, Sandersen?" "None that I could see." "Well, look at that. Ever see anything more yaller?" Gaspar walked between his two guards. Rather he was dragged between them, his feet trailing weakly and aimlessly behind him, his whole body sinking with flabby terror.
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