he was
called a sure man in a fight."

"That's him," muttered the sheriff. He was greatly relieved to know
that his antagonist had already achieved so comfortable a reputation.
"A big, lean, hungry-eyed gent, with a restless pair of hands. He come
along with me while I was bringing Gaspar, but I didn't think nothing
about it, most nacheral. I leave it to you, boys!"

Settling themselves they leaned forward in their chairs.

"We was talking about hosses and suchlike, which Sinclair talked
uncommon slick. He seemed a knowing gent, and I opened up to him, but
in the middle of things he paws out his Colt, as smooth as you ever
see, and he shoves it under my nose."

Sheriff Kern paused. He was wearing gloves in spite of the fact that he
was in his office. These gloves seem to have a peculiarly businesslike
meaning for the others, and now they watched, fascinated, while the
sheriff tugged his fingers deeper into the gloves, as if he were
getting ready for action. He cleared his throat and managed to snap out
the rest of the shameful statement.

"He stuck me up, boys, and he told Jig to beat it up the trail. Then he
backed off, keeping me covered all the time, until he was around the
hill. The minute he was out of sight I follered him, but when it come
into view, him and Gaspar was high-tailing through the hills. I didn't
have no rifle, and it was plumb foolish to chase two killers with
nothing but a Colt. Which I leave it to you gents!"

"Would have been crazy, sheriff," asserted Red Chalmers.

"I dunno," sighed Arizona, patting his fat stomach reminiscently. "I
dunno. I guess you was right, Kern."

The others glared at him, and the sheriff became purple.

"So I come back and figured that I'd best get together the handiest
little bunch of fighting men I could lay hands on. That's why I sent
for you four."

Clumsily they made their acknowledgements.

"Because," said Kern, "it don't take no senator to see that something
has got to be done. Sour Creek is after Gaspar, and now it'll be after
Sinclair, too. But they got clear of me, and I'm the sheriff of
Woodville. It's up to Woodville to get 'em back. Am I right?"

Again they nodded, and the sheriff, growing warmer as he talked,
snatched off a glove and mopped his forehead. As his arm fell, he noted
that Arizona had seen something which fascinated him. His eyes followed
every gesture of the sheriff's hand.

"Is that the whole story?" asked Arizona.

"The whole