“Whew! but it’s howlin’ cold. Three foot of snow and more comin’. What you doin’—keepin’ house?”
“Yes,” replied the sheriff. “Bill’s gone over to Hike’s for a minute.”
Cameron rubbed his ear gingerly, then lapsed into frowning silence as the sheriff told him why he had sent for him.
“That’s one way of lookin’ at it, Scotty,” he said presently, “but it ain’t accordin’ to law.”
“What is the law in such a case, Jim?”
Cameron’s frown deepened. “To my thinkin’—it’s jail.”
“That’s all right—but how would you go at it to prove to a Tramworth jury that he put Injun Pete up to it?”
“There’s them three ca’tridges—and me.”
“Do you think there’s a jury up here would send Fisty down on that evidence?”
“I dunno—why not?”