ke
a murderer. His reason told him that Cold Feet was "yaller," not worth
saving. His reason told him that he could save Jig only by a confession
that would drive him, Sinclair, away from Sour Creek and his destined
victim, Sandersen. Or he could save Jig by violating the law, and that
also would drive him from Sour Creek and Sandersen.

Suddenly he halted in the midst of his pacing to and fro. Why was he
turning these alternatives back and forth in his mind? Because, he
understood all at once, he had subconsciously determined that Cold Feet
must not die!

The face of his brother rose up and looked into his eyes. That was the
friend of whom he would not speak to Jig, brother and friend at once.
And as surely as ever ghost called to living man, that face demanded
the death of Sandersen. He blinked the vision away.

"I _am_ going nutty," muttered Sinclair. "Whether Sandersen lives or
dies, Jig ain't going to dance at a rope's end!"

Presently Sally called him in to lunch, and Riley ate halfheartedly.
All during the meal neither Sally nor John Gaspar had more than a word
for him, while they talked steadily together. They seemed to understand
each other so well that he felt a hidden insult in it.

Once or twice he made a heavy attempt to enter the conversation, always
addressing his remarks to Sally Bent. He was received graciously, but
his remarks always fell dead, and a moment later Cold Feet had picked
up the frayed ends of his own talk and won the entire attention of
Sally. Riley was beginning to understand why the youth of that district
detested Cold Feet.

"Always takes some soft-handed dude to make a winning with a fool
girl," he comforted himself.

He expected the arrival of Jerry Bent before nightfall, and with that
arrival, perhaps, there would be a new sort of attack on him. Sally and
Cold Feet were trying persuasion, but they might encourage Jerry Bent
to attempt physical force. With all his heart Riley Sinclair hoped so.
He had a peculiar desire to do something significant for the eyes of
both Sally and Jig.

But nightfall came, and then supper, and still no Jerry appeared.
Afterward, Sinclair made ready to sleep in Jig's room. Cold Feet
offered him the couch.

"Beds and me don't hitch" declared Riley, throwing two or three of the
rugs together. "I ain't particular partial to a floor, neither, but
these here rugs will give it a sort of a ground softness."

He sat cross-legged on the low pile of rug