"No time for whistling," says the other.
"Say, what you mean?"
"I ask you just this," said the gloomy man, with a mystery of much knowledge in his face: "Are gents around here going to be murdered, and the murderers go free?"
"Well?"
"Sinclair and Arizona—that's what's up! They're going to bust loose."
"I dunno about Arizona, but Sinclair, they say, is a square shooter."
"Who told you that? Sinclair himself? He's got a rep as long as my arm.
He's a bad one, son!"
"You don't say!"
"I do say. And something has got to be done, or Sour Creek won't be a decent man's town no more."
"Let me in." Off they went arm in arm.