"Now, suppose it was me that brought in Cold Feet, who'd get the money?"
"Why, you that brought him in?"
"Yep, me. And suppose I brought him in with two murders charged to him instead of one."
"I don't foller you. What's the second murder, Fatty?"
"You!"
Sandersen blinked and gave back a little. Plainly he was beginning to fear that the reason of Arizona was unbalanced.
He shook his head.
"I'll show you how it'll be charged to Cold Feet," said the fat man.
Taking the cartridge belt of Jig he shook the revolver out of the holster and pumped a shot into the ground. The sharp crack of the explosion roused no echo for a perceptible space. Then it struck back at them from a solid wall of rock, almost as loud as it had been in fact. Off among the hills the echo was repeated to a faint whisper. Arizona dropped the revolver carelessly on the ground.
"Fatty, you've gone nutty," said Sandersen.