got to say about Arizona."

Sheriff Kern nodded. "That's straight talk, Sinclair," he said softly.
"But what was it you wanted to see me about?"

"Cold Feet," said Sinclair.

At once the sheriff brightened. "That's right," he said hurriedly. "You
got the right idea now, partner. Glad to see you're using hoss sense.
And if you gimme an idea of the trail that'll lead to Cold Feet, I can
see to it that you get out of this mess pretty pronto. After all, you
ain't done no real harm except for nicking Cartwright in the arm, and I
figure that he needs a little punishment. It'll cool his temper down."

"You think I ought to tell you where Cold Feet is?" asked Sinclair
without emotion.

"Why not?"

"Him and me sat around the same campfire, sheriff, and ate off'n the
same deer."

At this the sheriff winced. "I know," he murmured. "It's hard--mighty
hard!" He continued more smoothly: "But listen to me, partner. There's
twenty-five-hundred dollars on the head of Cold Feet. Why not come in?
Why not split on it? Plenty for both of us; and, speaking personal, I
could use half that money, and maybe you could use the other half just
as well!"

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Sinclair, "I'll give you the layout
for finding Cold Feet. Ride west out of Sour Creek and head for a
flat-topped mountain. On the shoulder just under the head of the peak
you'll find Cold Feet. Go get him!"

The sheriff caught his breath, then whirled on his heel. The sharp
voice of Sinclair called him back.

"Wait a minute. I ain't through. When you catch Cold Feet you go after
him without guns."

"How come?"

"Because you might hurt him, and he can't fight, sheriff. Even if he
was to pull a gun, he couldn't hit nothing with it. He couldn't hit the
ground he's standing on with a gun."

Sheriff Kern scratched his head.

"And when you get him," went on Sinclair, "tell him to go back and take
up his life where he left off, because they's no harm coming to him."

"Great guns, man! No harm coming to him with a murder to his count and
a price on his head?"

"I mean what I say. Break it to him real gentle."

"And who pays for the killing of Quade?"

Sinclair smiled. He was finding it far easier to do it than he had ever
imagined. The moment he made the resolve, his way was smoothed for him.

"I pay for Quade," he said quietly.

"What d'you mean?"

"Because I killed him, sheriff. Now go tell Cold Feet that his score is
clean!"

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