"Why not him?"

"He's a bad hombre," said the girl. "Hate to have Jig in his hands.
With you it's different."

Sinclair waited until he had put down the bucket in the kitchen. Then
he faced Sally thoughtfully.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you're reasonable."

"Did Jig tell you that?"

"And a pile more. Jig says you're a pretty fine sort. That's his
words."

The cowpuncher caressed the butt of his gun with his fingertips, his
habitual gesture when in doubt.

"Lady," he said at length, "suppose I cut this short? You think I ain't
going to keep Cold Feet here till the sheriff comes for him?"

"You see what it would mean?" she asked eagerly. "It wouldn't be a fair
trial. You couldn't get a fair jury for Jig around Sour Creek and
Woodville. They hate him--all the young men do. D'you know why? Simply
because he's different! Simply because--"

"Because all the girls are pretty fond of him, eh?"