the pleasure of
newfound kinship. "You and me would get on proper, Sinclair."
"Most like."
"This hoss of mine, now, has sense enough to take me home without me
touching a rein. Knows direction like a wolf."
"Could you guide her with your knees?"
"Sure."
"And she's plumb safe with you?"
"Sure."
"I know a gent once that said he'd trust himself tied hand and foot on
his hoss."
"That goes for me and my hoss, too, Sinclair."
"Well, then, just shove up them hands, sheriff!"
The sheriff blinked, as the sun flashed on the revolver in the steady
hand of Sinclair. There was a significant little jerking up of the
revolver. Each time the muzzle stirred, the hands of the sheriff jumped
higher and higher until his arms were stiffly stretched. Gaspar had
halted his horse and looked back in amazement.
"I hate to do it," declared Sinclair. "Right off I sort of took to you,
sheriff. But this has got to be done."
"Sinclair, have you done much thinking before you figured this all
out?"
"Enough! If I knowed you one shade better, sheriff, I'd take your word
that you'd ride on into Woodville, good and slow, and not start no
pursuit. But I don't know you that well. I got to tie you on the back
of that steady old hoss of yours and turn you loose. We need that much
start."
He dismounted, still keeping careful aim, took the rope coiled beside
the sheriff's own saddle horn and began a swift and sure process of
tying. He worked deftly, without undue fear or haste, and Gaspar came
back to look on with scared eyes.
"You're a fool, Sinclair," murmured the sheriff. "You'll never get shut
of me. I'll foller you till I drop dead. I'll never forget you. Change
your mind now, and we'll say nothing has happened. But if you keep on,
you're done for as sure as my name is Kern. Take you by yourself, and
you'd be a handful to catch. But two is easier than one, and, when one
of them two is a deadweight like Gaspar, they ain't nothing to it."
He finished his appeal completely trussed.
"I ain't tied you on the hoss," said Sinclair. "Take note of that. Also
I'm leaving you your guns, sheriff."
"I hope you'll have a chance to see 'em come out of the holster later
on, Sinclair."
The cowpuncher took no notice of this bitterness. Gaspar, who looked
on, was astonished by a certain deferential politeness on the part of
the big cowpuncher.
"Speaking personal, I hope I don't never have no trouble with you,
sheriff. I like you, understand?"
"Have your little joke, Sinclair!"
"I mean it. I know I'm usin' you like a skunk. But I got a special
need, and I can't take no chances. Sheriff, I tell you out of my heart
that I'm sorry! Will you believe me?"
The sheriff smiled. "The same as you'll believe me when we change
parts, Sinclair."
The big man sighed. "I s'pose it's got to be that way," he said. "But
if you come for me, Kern, come all primed for action. It'll be a hard
trail."
"That's my specialty."
"Well, sheriff, s'long—and good luck!"
The sheriff nodded. "Thanks!"
Pressing his horse with his knees, Kern started down the trail at a
slow canter. Sinclair followed the retiring figure, nodding with
admiration at the skill with which the sheriff kept his mount under
control, merely by power of voice. Presently the latter turned a corner
of the trail and was out of sight.
"But—I knew—I knew!" exclaimed John Gaspar. "Only, why did you let
him go on into town?" The cold glance of Sinclair rested on his
companion. "What would you have done?"
"Tied him up and left him here."
"I think you would—to die in the sun!" He swung up into his saddle.
"Now, Gaspar, we've started on what's like to prove the last trail for
both of us, understand? By night we'll both be outlawed. They'll have a
price on us, and long before night, Kern will be after us. For the
first time in your soft-hearted life you've got to work, and you've got
to fight."
"I'll do it, Mr. Sinclair!"
"Bah! Save your talk. Talk's dirt cheap."
"I only ask one thing. Why have you done
newfound kinship. "You and me would get on proper, Sinclair."
"Most like."
"This hoss of mine, now, has sense enough to take me home without me
touching a rein. Knows direction like a wolf."
"Could you guide her with your knees?"
"Sure."
"And she's plumb safe with you?"
"Sure."
"I know a gent once that said he'd trust himself tied hand and foot on
his hoss."
"That goes for me and my hoss, too, Sinclair."
"Well, then, just shove up them hands, sheriff!"
The sheriff blinked, as the sun flashed on the revolver in the steady
hand of Sinclair. There was a significant little jerking up of the
revolver. Each time the muzzle stirred, the hands of the sheriff jumped
higher and higher until his arms were stiffly stretched. Gaspar had
halted his horse and looked back in amazement.
"I hate to do it," declared Sinclair. "Right off I sort of took to you,
sheriff. But this has got to be done."
"Sinclair, have you done much thinking before you figured this all
out?"
"Enough! If I knowed you one shade better, sheriff, I'd take your word
that you'd ride on into Woodville, good and slow, and not start no
pursuit. But I don't know you that well. I got to tie you on the back
of that steady old hoss of yours and turn you loose. We need that much
start."
He dismounted, still keeping careful aim, took the rope coiled beside
the sheriff's own saddle horn and began a swift and sure process of
tying. He worked deftly, without undue fear or haste, and Gaspar came
back to look on with scared eyes.
"You're a fool, Sinclair," murmured the sheriff. "You'll never get shut
of me. I'll foller you till I drop dead. I'll never forget you. Change
your mind now, and we'll say nothing has happened. But if you keep on,
you're done for as sure as my name is Kern. Take you by yourself, and
you'd be a handful to catch. But two is easier than one, and, when one
of them two is a deadweight like Gaspar, they ain't nothing to it."
He finished his appeal completely trussed.
"I ain't tied you on the hoss," said Sinclair. "Take note of that. Also
I'm leaving you your guns, sheriff."
"I hope you'll have a chance to see 'em come out of the holster later
on, Sinclair."
The cowpuncher took no notice of this bitterness. Gaspar, who looked
on, was astonished by a certain deferential politeness on the part of
the big cowpuncher.
"Speaking personal, I hope I don't never have no trouble with you,
sheriff. I like you, understand?"
"Have your little joke, Sinclair!"
"I mean it. I know I'm usin' you like a skunk. But I got a special
need, and I can't take no chances. Sheriff, I tell you out of my heart
that I'm sorry! Will you believe me?"
The sheriff smiled. "The same as you'll believe me when we change
parts, Sinclair."
The big man sighed. "I s'pose it's got to be that way," he said. "But
if you come for me, Kern, come all primed for action. It'll be a hard
trail."
"That's my specialty."
"Well, sheriff, s'long—and good luck!"
The sheriff nodded. "Thanks!"
Pressing his horse with his knees, Kern started down the trail at a
slow canter. Sinclair followed the retiring figure, nodding with
admiration at the skill with which the sheriff kept his mount under
control, merely by power of voice. Presently the latter turned a corner
of the trail and was out of sight.
"But—I knew—I knew!" exclaimed John Gaspar. "Only, why did you let
him go on into town?" The cold glance of Sinclair rested on his
companion. "What would you have done?"
"Tied him up and left him here."
"I think you would—to die in the sun!" He swung up into his saddle.
"Now, Gaspar, we've started on what's like to prove the last trail for
both of us, understand? By night we'll both be outlawed. They'll have a
price on us, and long before night, Kern will be after us. For the
first time in your soft-hearted life you've got to work, and you've got
to fight."
"I'll do it, Mr. Sinclair!"
"Bah! Save your talk. Talk's dirt cheap."
"I only ask one thing. Why have you done
Similar Books
