"What's up?"
"They're gettin' the fellers together, and sayin' that yer shot a woman in the hold-up."
"It's an infernal lie," I said.
"Sounds that way to me," assented the sheriff; "but two-thirds of the boys are drunk, and it's a long time since they've had any fun."
"Well," I said, as calmly as I could, "are you going to stand by me?"
"I would, Mr. Gordon," he replied, "if there was any good, but there ain't time to get a posse, and what's one Winchester against a mob of cowboys like them?"
"If you'll lend me your gun," I said, "I'll show just what it is worth, without troubling you."
"I'll do better than that," offered the sheriff, "and that's what I'm here for. Just sneak, while there's time."
"You mean—?" I exclaimed.
"That's it. I'm goin' away, and I'll leave the door unlocked. If yer get clear let me know yer address, and later, if I want yer, I'll send yer word." He took a grip on my fingers that numbed them as if they had been caught in an air-brake, and disappeared.