"Why are you doing this for me, Sinclair—after I landed you here?"
"Because I made a man out of you once," answered the tall man evenly, "and I ain't going to see you backslide. Why, Arizona, you're one of the fastest-thinkin', quickest-handed gents that ever buckled on a gun, and here you are lying down like a kid that ain't never faced trouble before. Come alive, man. You and me are going to bust this ol' jail to smithereens, and when we get outside I'll blow your head off if I can!"
Riley's words had carried Arizona with him. Suddenly an olive-skinned hand shot out and clutched his own bony, strong fingers. The hand was fat and cold, but it gripped that of Riley Sinclair with a desperate energy.
"Sinclair, you mean it? You'll play in with me?"
"I will—sure!"
He had to drag the words out, but after he had spoken he was glad. New life shone in the face of Arizona.
"A man with you for a partner ain't done, Sinclair—not if he had a rope around his neck. Listen! D'you know why I come in town?"
"Well?"
"To get you out."
"I believe you, Arizona," lied Sinclair.