"I'm Sinclair, sheriff."

They shook hands.

"Nice bit of work you done for me, Sinclair, keeping the boys from
stringing up Jig, yonder. These here lynchings don't set none too well
on the reputation of a sheriff. I guess we're ready to start. S'long
Sally--Jerry. Are you riding our way, Sinclair?"

"I thought I'd happen along. Ain't never seen Woodville yet."

"Glad to have you. But they ain't much to see unless you look twice at
the same thing."

They started down the trail three abreast.

"Ride on ahead," commanded Sinclair to Jig. "We don't want you riding
in the same line with men. Git on ahead!"

John Gaspar obeyed that brutal order with bowed head. He rode
listlessly, with loose rein, letting the pony pick its own way. Once
Sinclair looked back to Sally Bent, weeping in the arms of her brother.
Again his face grew black.

"And yet," confided the sheriff softly, "I ain't never heard no trouble
about this Gaspar before."

"He's poison," declared Sinclair bitterly, and he raised his voice that
it would unmistakably carry to the shrinking figure before them. "He's