Sinclair waited, but the other changed his tack at once.
"If you ain't from Sour Creek, I guess you can't tell me what I want to know."
"Maybe not."
The brown man looked about him for diversion. Presently his eyes rested on Cold Feet, who had not stirred during all this interval.
"Son?"
"Nope."
"Kid brother?"
"Nope."
Cartwright frowned. "Not much of nothing, I figure," he said with marked insolence.
"Maybe not," replied Sinclair, and again he glanced down.