It occurred to Sinclair to fling the window up boldly, and when Cartwright turned, cover him with a gun.  But the chances, including his position on the ledge, were very much against him.  Cartwright would probably snatch at his own gun which lay before him in its holster on the table, and whirling he would try a snap shot.

The only other alternative was to raise the window—­and that with Cartwright four paces away!

First Sinclair took stock of the interior of the room.  It was larger than most parlors he had seen.  There was a big double bed on each side of it.  Plainly it was intended to accommodate a whole party, and Sinclair smiled at the vanity of the man who had insisted on taking “the best you have.”  No wonder Sour Creek knew the room he had rented.

In the corner was a great fireplace capable of taking a six-foot log, at least.  He admired the massive andirons, palpably of home manufacture in Sour Creek’s blacksmith shop.  It proved the age of the building.  No one would waste money on such a fireplace in these days.  A little stove would do twice the work of that great, hungry chimney.  There were two great chests of drawers, also, each looking as if it were built up from the floor and made immovable, such was its weight.  The beds, also, were of an ancient and solid school of furniture making.

To be sure, everything was sadly run down.  On the floor the thin old carpet was worn completely through at the sides of the beds.  Both mirrors above the chest of drawers were sadly cracked, and the table at which Cartwright sat, leaned to the right under the weight of the arm he rested on it.

Having thus taken in the details of the battle ground, Sinclair made ready for the attack.  He made sure of his footing on the ledge, gave a last glance over his shoulder to see that no one was in sight, and then began to work at the window, moving it fractions of an inch at a time.

23

When the window was half raised—­the work of a full ten minutes—­Sinclair drew his revolver and rested the barrel on the sill.  He continued to lift the sash, but now he used his left hand alone, and thereby the noises became louder and more frequent.  Cartwright occasionally raised his head, but probably he was becoming accustomed to the sounds.

Now the window was raised to its full height, and Sinclair prepared for the command which would jerk Cartwright’s hands above his head and make him turn slowly to look into the mouth of the gun.  Weight which he could have handled easily with a lurch, became tenfold heavier with the slowness of the lift; eventually both shoulders were in the room, and he was kneeling on the sill.

Cartwright raised his hands slowly, luxuriously, and stretched.  It was a movement so opportune that Sinclair almost laughed aloud.  He twisted his legs over the sill and dropped lightly on the floor.

“No noise!” he called softly.