“For murder,” said the sheriff.  “Stick up your hands, Arizona!”

31

Even though he was taken utterly by surprise, habit made Arizona go for his own gun, as the sheriff whipped out his weapon.  But under those conditions he was beaten badly to the draw.  Before his weapon was half out of the holster, the sheriff had the drop.

Arizona paused, but, for a moment, his eyes fought Kern, figuring chances.  It was only the hesitation of an instant.  The battle was lost before it had begun, and Arizona was clever enough to know it.  Swiftly he turned on a new tack.  He shoved his revolver back into the holster and smiled benevolently on the sheriff.

“What’s the new game, Kern?”

“It ain’t new,” said the sheriff joylessly.  “It’s about the oldest game in the world.  Arizona, you sure killed Sandersen.”

“Sandersen?” Arizona laughed.  “Why, man, I ain’t hardly seen him more than once.  How come that I would kill him?”

“Get your hands up, Arizona.”

“Oh, sure.”  He obeyed with apparent willingness.  “But don’t let anybody see you making this fool play, sheriff.”

“Maybe not so foolish.  I’ll tell you why you killed him.  You’re broke, Arizona.  Ten days ago Mississippi Slim cleaned you out at dice.  Well, when Sinclair told me where Cold Feet was, you listened through the door, but you didn’t stay to find out that Jig wasn’t wanted no more.  You beat it up to the mountain, and there you found Sandersen was ahead of your time.  You drilled Sandersen, hoping to throw the blame on Cold Feet.  Then you come down, but on the way Cold Feet gives you the slip and gets away.  And that’s why you’re here.”

Arizona blinked.  So much of this tale was true that it shook even his iron nerve.  He managed to smile.

“That’s a wild yarn, sheriff.  D’you think it’ll go down with a jury?”

“It’ll go down with any jury around these parts.  What’s more, Arizona, I ain’t going to rest on what I think.  I’m going to find out.  And, if I send down to the south inquiring about you, I got an idea that I’ll find out enough to hang ten like you, eh?”

Once more Arizona received a vital blow, and he winced under the impact.  Moreover, he was bewildered.  His own superior intelligence had inclined him to despise the sheriff, whom he put down as a fellow of more bulldog power than mental agility.  All in a moment it was being borne in upon him that he had underrated his man.  He could not answer.  His smooth tongue was chained.

“Not that I got any personal grudge agin’ you,” went on the sheriff, “but it’s gents like you that I’m after, Arizona, and not one like Sinclair.  You ain’t clean, Arizona.  You’re slick, and they ain’t elbowroom enough in the West for slick gents.  Besides, you got a bad way with your gun.  I can tell you this, speaking private and confidential, I’m going to hang you, Arizona, if there’s any way possible!”