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Updated: May 19, 2025
In the west the moon was dropping behind the upper ranges, as he rode through the foothills; when he began to climb the side of the mountain, the dawn began to grow. So much the better for Arizona. But, knowing that he had only Cold Feet to deal with, he did not adopt all the caution of Sandersen on the same trail.
He could not accuse Sinclair of this killing without in the first place exposing the tale of how Riley's brother was abandoned in the desert by three strong men who had been his bunkies. And that story, Sandersen knew, would condemn him to worse than death in the mountain desert. He would be loathed and scorned from one end of the cattle country to the other.
Once Sandersen, in the grip of some passion of remorse or of fear of death, bowed his head with a strange moan. But, aside from that, there was no sound or sign between them until, hardly an hour and a half after leaving Sinclair, they found water. At first they thought it was a mirage. They turned away from it by mutual assent. But the horses had scented drink, and they became unmanageable.
"Did you look at that welt on the stranger's head?" "Sure." "Did you see a little cut in the middle of the welt?" "Come to think of it, I sure did." "Well, Sandersen, how d'you make out that a gun butt would make a cut like that?" "What are you driving at, Whitey?" "I'm just discounting the stranger," said Whitey. "I dunno what other talents he's got, but he's sure a fine nacheral liar."
We'll split on Sinclair's reward." Disgust and wrath consumed Arizona. Without other answer he strode to the prostrate form, slashed the rope and tore the handkerchief from between the teeth of Cold Feet. The schoolteacher sat up, gasping for breath, purple of face. "Leave him be!" cried Sandersen, his voice shrill with anger. "Leave him be!
The reasons that I got agin' you ain't personal whatever, which they're things I got a right to think, me being an officer of the law for the time being. If you hold a grudge agin' me for what I've said, you and me can talk it over after this here job's done. Is that square?" "I s'pose it's got to be," replied Sandersen. "Gents, does the word of your fat friend go here?"
"It's about the oldest game in the world. Arizona, you sure killed Sandersen." "Sandersen?" Arizona laughed. "Why, man, I ain't hardly seen him more than once. How come that I would kill him?" "Get your hands up, Arizona." "Oh, sure." He obeyed with apparent willingness. "But don't let anybody see you making this fool play, sheriff." "Maybe not so foolish. I'll tell you why you killed him.
There was not a soul in sight. The mountains were growing stark and black against the flush of the western sky. His glance fell back upon Quade. "But how did Lowrie happen to die?" "He got shot." "Did a gang drop him?" "Nope, just one gent." "You don't say! But Lowrie was a pretty slick hand with a gun next to Bill Sandersen, the best I ever seen, almost! Somebody got the drop on him, eh?"
He laughed at the idea. "I dunno," whispered Sandersen. "I dunno, gents. But we done an awful thing, and we're going to pay we're going to pay!" Their trails divided after that. Sandersen and Quade started back for Sour Creek. At the parting of the ways Lowrie's last word was for Sandersen. "You started this party, Sandersen. If they's any hell coming out of it, it'll fall chiefly on you.
The posse nodded its general head, with the usual exception of Arizona, who seemed to take a particular pleasure in diverging from the judgments of the others. "Just a minute, gents," he said. "Don't it strike you that they's something the same with Cartwright and Sandersen? Both of 'em in particular anxious to cut in on this party; both of 'em has grudges.
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