It had been well after midnight when Mason and Sandersen got back to Sour Creek.  The gathering of the posse had required much time.  Now, as they filed out to the hotel, to the east the mountains were beginning to roll up out of the night, and one cloud, far away and high in the sky, was turning pink.  They found the hotel wakening even at this early hour.  At least, the Chinese cook was rattling in the kitchen as he built the fire.  When the six reached the door of Sinclair’s room, stepping lightly, they heard the occupant singing softly to himself.

“Early riser,” whispered Denver Jim.

“Too early to be honest,” replied Judge Lodge.

Larsen raised one of his great hands and imposed an absolute silence.  Then, stepping with astonishing softness, considering his bulk, he approached the door of Sinclair’s room.  Into his left hand slid his .45 and instantly five guns glinted in the hands of the others.  With equal caution they ranged themselves behind the big Swede.  The latter glanced over his shoulder, made sure that everything was in readiness, and then kicked the door violently open.

Riley Sinclair was sitting on the side of his bed, tugging on a pair of riding boots and singing a hushed song.  He interrupted himself long enough to look up into the muzzle of Larsen’s gun.  Then deliberately he finished drawing on the boot, singing while he did so; and, still deliberately, rose and stamped his feet home in the leather.  Next he dropped his hands on his hips and considered the posse gravely.

“Always heard tell how Sour Creek was a fine town but I didn’t know they turned out reception committees before sunup.  How are you, boys?  Want my roll?”

Larsen, as one who scorned to take a flying start on any man, dropped his weapon back in its holster.  Sinclair’s own gun and cartridge belt hang on the wall at the foot of the bed.

“That sounds too cool to be straight,” said the judge soberly.  “Sinclair, I figure you know why we want you?”

“I dunno, gents,” said Sinclair, who grew more and more cheerful in the face of these six pairs of grim eyes.  “But I’m sure obliged to the gent that give me the sendoff.  What d’you want?” Drawing into the background Larsen said:  “Open up on him, judge.  Start the questions.”

But Sandersen was of no mind to let the slow-moving mind of the judge handle this affair which was so vital to him.  If Riley Sinclair did not hang, Sandersen himself was instantly placed in peril of his life.  He stepped in front of Sinclair and thrust out his long arm.

“You killed Quade!”

Riley Sinclair rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking past his accuser.

“I don’t think so,” he said at length.

“You don’t think so?  Don’t you know?”

“They was two Mexicans jumped me once.  One of ’em was called Pedro.  Maybe the other was Quade.  That who you’re talking about?’

“You can’t talk yourself out of it, Sinclair,” said Denver Jim.  “We mean business, real business, you’ll find out!”