“Of all the gents that I ever seen,” said Sinclair softly, “I ain’t never seen none that made me want to tangle with ’em so powerful bad.  And of all the poisoned fatheads, all the mean, sneakin’ advantage-takin’ skunks that ever I run up again’, this gent Cartwright is the worst.  If his hide was worth a million an inch, I would have it.  If he was to pay me a hundred thousand a day, I wouldn’t be his pal for a minute.”  He paused.  “Them, taking ’em by and large, is my sentiments about this here Cartwright.  So open up and tell me what you done to him.”

To his very real surprise the schoolteacher shook his head.  “I can’t do it.”

“H’m,” said Sinclair, cut to the quick.  “Can’t you trust me with it, eh?”

“Ah,” murmured Gaspar, “of all the men in the world, you’re the one I’d tell it to most easily.  But I can’t—­I can’t.”

“I don’t care whether you tell me or not.  Whatever you done, it must have been plumb bad if you can’t even tell it to a gent that likes Cartwright like he likes poison.”

“It was bad,” said Jig slowly.  “It was very bad—­it was a sin.  Until I die I can never repay him for what I have done.”

Sinclair recovered some of his good nature at this outburst of self-accusation.

“I’ll be hanged if I believe it,” he declared bluntly.  “Not a word of it!  When you come right down to the point you’ll find out that you ain’t been half so bad as you think.  The way I figure you is this, Jig.  You ain’t so bad, except that you ain’t got no nerve.  Was it a matter of losing your nerve that made Cartwright mad at you?”

“Yes.  It was altogether that.”

Sinclair sighed.  “Too bad!  I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it.  They’s a flaw in everything, Jig, and this is yours.  If I was to be around you much, d’you know what I’d do?”

“What?”

“I’d try to plumb forget about this flaw of yours:  That’s a fact.  But as far as Cartwright goes, to blazes with him!  And that’s where he’s apt to wind up pronto if he’s as good as his word and comes after me with a gun.  In the meantime you grab your hoss, kid, and slide back into Sour Creek and show the boys this here confession I’ve written.  You can add one thing.  I didn’t put it in because I knowed they wouldn’t believe me.  I killed Quade fair and square.  I give him the first move for his gun, and then I beat him to the draw and killed him on an even break.  That’s the straight of it.  I know they won’t believe it.  Matter of fact I’m saying it for you, Jig, more’n I am for them!”

It was an amazing thing to see the sudden light that flooded the face of the schoolteacher.

“And I do believe you, Sinclair,” he said.  “With all my heart I believe you and know you couldn’t have taken an unfair advantage!”

“H’m,” muttered Riley.  “It ain’t bad to hear you say that.  And now trot along, son.”

Cold Feet made no move to obey.