"This here is a necktie party, maybe?" asked Riley Sinclair.

"It is, partner," said big Larsen, with his continual smile.

"Sinclair, you come over the mountains," went on Sandersen. "You come
to find Quade. You ride down off'n the hills, and you come up to
Quade's house. You call him out to talk to you. You're sitting on your
horse. All at once you snatch out a gun and shoot Quade down. We know!
That bullet ranged down. It was shot from above him, plain murder! He
didn't have a chance!"

Throwing out his facts as he saw them, one by one, there was a ring of
conviction in his voice. The six accusing faces grew hard and set.
Then, to their astonishment, they saw that Sinclair was smiling!

"He don't noways take us serious, gents," declared the judge. "Let's
take him out and see if a rope means anything to him. Sinclair, d'you
figure this is a game with us?"

Riley Sinclair chuckled. "Gents," he said easily, "you come here all
het up. You want a pile of action, but you ain't going to get it off'n
me--not a bit! I'll tell you why. You gents are straight, and you know
straight talk when you hear it. This dead man--what's his name,
Quade?--was killed by a gent that had a reason for killing him. Wanted
to get Quade's money, or they was an old grudge. But what could my
reason be for wanting to bump off Quade? Can any of you figure that
out? There's my things. Look through 'em and see if I got Quade's
money. Maybe you think it's a grudge? Gents, I give you my word that I
never been into this country before this trip. How could there be any