Perhaps after all, Sandersen felt, fate might not be with him in this quest for Sinclair.  He said earnestly:  “You see, boys, it was me that raised the posse that run down Cold Feet in the first place.  It was me that backed up Sinclair all the way through the trail, and I feel like some of the blame for what happened is coming to me.  I want to square things up and get a chance at Sinclair.  I want it mighty bad.  You know me, Kern.  Gimme a chance, will you?”

“Well, that sounds like reason,” admitted the sheriff.  “Eh, boys?”

The posse nodded its general head, with the usual exception of Arizona, who seemed to take a particular pleasure in diverging from the judgments of the others.

“Just a minute, gents,” he said.  “Don’t it strike you that they’s something the same with Cartwright and Sandersen?  Both of ’em in particular anxious to cut in on this party; both of ’em has grudges.  Cartwright said he didn’t want no share of the money if you caught Gaspar and Sinclair.  Is that right for you, too, Sandersen?”

“It sure is.  I want the fun, not the coin,” said Sandersen.

“Boys,” resumed Arizona, “it rounds up to this:  Sinclair came down here to Sour Creek for a purpose.”

Sandersen began to listen intently.  He even dreaded this fat man from the southland.

“I dunno what this purpose was,” went on Arizona, “but mostly when a gent like Sinclair makes a trip they’s a man at the far end of it—­because this ain’t his range.  Now, if it’s a man, why shouldn’t it be one of these two, Cartwright or Sandersen, who both pack a grudge against Sinclair?  Sinclair is resting somewhere up yonder in them hills.  I’m sure of that.  He’s waiting there to get a chance to finish his business in Sour Creek, and that business is Cartwright or Sandersen, I dunno which.  Now, I’m agin’ taking in Sandersen.  When we’re private I’ll tell you my reason why.”

There was something of an insult in this speech and the tall man took instant offense.

“Partner,” he drawled, “it looks to me like them reasons could be spoke personal to me.  Suppose you step outside and we talk shop?”

Arizona smiled.  It took a man of some courage and standing to refuse such an invitation without losing caste.  But for some reason Arizona was the last man in the world whom one could accuse of being a coward.

“Sandersen,” he said coldly, “I don’t mean to step on your toes.  You may be as good a man as the next.  The reasons that I got agin’ you ain’t personal whatever, which they’re things I got a right to think, me being an officer of the law for the time being.  If you hold a grudge agin’ me for what I’ve said, you and me can talk it over after this here job’s done.  Is that square?”

“I s’pose it’s got to be,” replied Sandersen.  “Gents, does the word of your fat friend go here?”

Left to themselves, the posse probably would have refused Arizona’s advice on general principles, but Arizona did not leave them to themselves.