ure will be a bad mess if he meets up with
Sinclair ag'in!"

"Reckon it had ought to be," replied Sinclair. "Like to see this gent
that waded into two outlaws with his bare fists."

"He's a man, right enough. Got a room up in the hotel. Must have a pile
of money, because he took the big room onto the north end of the hotel,
the room that's as big as a house. Nothin' else suited him at all. Dad
told me."

"I ain't got nothing particular on hand," murmured Sinclair. "Maybe I
can get in on this manhunt--if they ain't started already."

The boy laughed. "Everybody in town has been trying to get in on that
manhunt, but it ain't any use. Sheriff Kern has got a handpicked
posse--every one a fightin' fool, Dad says. Wish you luck, though. They
ain't starting till the morning. Well, here's where I branch off.
S'long! Hey, Spot, you old fool, git along, will you?"

Sinclair watched the youngster fade into the gloom behind the ambling
cow, then he struck on toward Sour Creek; but, before he reached the
main street, he wound off to the left and let his horse drift slowly
beyond the outlying houses.

His problem had become greatly complicated by the information from the
boy. He had a double purpose, which was to see Cartwright in the first
place, and then Sandersen, for these were the separate stumbling blocks
for Jig and for himself. For Cartwright he saw a solution, through
which he could avoid a killing, but Sandersen must die.

He skirted behind the most northerly outlying shed of the hotel,
dismounted there, and threw the reins. Then he slipped back into the
shadow of the main building. Directly above him he saw three dark
windows bunched together. This must be Cartwright's room.

21

It seemed patent to Bill Sandersen, earlier that afternoon, that fate
had stacked the cards against Riley Sinclair. Bill Sandersen indeed,
believed in fate. He felt that great hidden forces had always
controlled his life, moving him hither and yon according to their
pleasure.

To the dreamy mind of the mystic, men are accidents, and all they
perform are the dictates of the power and the brain of the other world.

Sandersen could tell at what definite moments hunches had seized him.
He had looked at the side of the mountain and suddenly felt, without
any reason or volition on his part, that he was impelled to search that
mountainside for gold-bearing ore. He had never fallen into the habit
of using his reason. He was a wonderf