The ruddy face of the sheriff was wreathed in benignant smiles as he sat in the office of the Tramworth House. Cameron was standing by the stove, his hands spread to the warmth. He had just come in from the Knoll in answer to a message from the sheriff.

“Whew! but it’s howlin’ cold. Three foot of snow and more comin’. What you doin’—keepin’ house?”

“Yes,” replied the sheriff. “Bill’s gone over to Hike’s for a minute.”

Cameron rubbed his ear gingerly, then lapsed into frowning silence as the sheriff told him why he had sent for him.

“That’s one way of lookin’ at it, Scotty,” he said presently, “but it ain’t accordin’ to law.”

“What is the law in such a case, Jim?”

Cameron’s frown deepened. “To my thinkin’—it’s jail.”

“That’s all right—but how would you go at it to prove to a Tramworth jury that he put Injun Pete up to it?”

“There’s them three ca’tridges—and me.”

“Do you think there’s a jury up here would send Fisty down on that evidence?”

“I dunno—why not?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Jim. They’d be afraid of Fisty’s friends, for one thing. Ross is an outsider, and there’s always a bunch glad to see an outsider get the worst of it. Besides, Fisty isn’t worth spending the money on to convict. He’s all in, and I’m going to prove it to you. But here comes Bill,” he said, as the clerk entered. “We’ll go up to my room.”

“Now,” continued the sheriff, as he closed the door of his sanctum-sanctorum above, “I’m going to hand it to you straight.”

Cameron, astride a chair, tilted back and forth expectantly.

“In the first place, Jim, you haven’t got anything against Fisty but the shooting, have you?”

“Nope—ain’t got no scrap with him aside of that.”

“All you’re itching for is to see justice administered, isn’t it?” The sheriff’s eyes twinkled in a preternaturally grave face.

“That’s it!” Cameron’s chair thumped to the floor.

“And now that Barney Axel’s over in Canada, you’d be the chief witness for the State?”

“That’s me.”

“And that’s why you want to see Fisty on trial.” Cameron’s hand was raised in expostulation, but the sheriff continued hurriedly. “I thought so. Now, Jim, there’s more ways than one of straightening a man out, and the law isn’t always the best or surest way. I’ve found out that.”

“What you goin’ to do?” asked Cameron, forgetting for the moment his explanation that the other had interrupted.

“Well,” said the sheriff, glancing at his watch, “if you can stand it for about ten minutes I think I can show you. How’s Ross getting on at Lost Farm?”

“Great! Got the sidin’ in to the asbestuff, and everything snug fur winter. He’s trappin’ with Hoss now. Say! and he’s done more than that,”—Cameron paused that his news might have due effect,—“he’s a-goin’ to marry Swickey Avery—him! as learned her her readin’ and writin’. That’s what me and the missus has figured, from the way Swickey’s actin’ of late.”

“Why not? Swickey’s a mighty fine girl and mighty pretty, too.”

“Yes. But what I jest told you was privit calc’latin’—but seein’ as you’re a officer of the law, I guess it’s O.K.”

“Well, I’m glad of it. We need men like Ross up here. When are they going to get married?”

“I dunno. In the spring, I reckon, if Fisty Harrigan don’t—”

The sheriff held up his hand. “Fisty won’t,” he said. “I’ll take care of that.”

The sound of feet blundering up the stairway held Cameron’s eyes fixed on the door. “Some one comin’, Scotty.”

“Yes; I expected a visit. Sit still—you needn’t go.”

A short rap and the door swung open as Harrigan, breathing heavily, paused on the threshold.

“Come in, Denny. Sit down; I want to have a little talk with you.”

“Is he in it?” asked Harrigan, closing the door and indicating Cameron with a nod.

“Yes, incidentally. I’m glad you came, Denny—makes it easier for me.”

“Easier?” queried Harrigan. “Now what you drivin’ at?”

“Denny,” replied the sheriff, “I hear you’re out of a job.”

“What’s that to you?”

“Not so much as it is to you, perhaps. I hear they need men up St. John way. There’s a new company up there—started in last year.”

“Anxious to git me a job?” growled Harrigan.

“Not anxious, but willing to give you a chance.”

“Chanct? Well, I dunno as I’m askin’ any favors or lookin’ fur jobs. What you got to do about givin’ me a chanct anyhow?”

“Nothing, officially. Personally, a little more than that.” The sheriff’s tone was altogether unruffled and pleasant. “See here, Denny, you ought to know me by this time. I’ve given you a chance to catch on, but you won’t take it.” His manner changed as he whirled toward Fisty. “How many shots did Pete fire at Ross?”

“How in hell do I know?” replied Harrigan, backing away.

“Maybe you don’t, but I’ll tell you.”

The little man stepped to his trunk, unlocked it, and laid three empty cartridges on the table.

Harrigan glanced at them and his eye shifted to the wall.

“Three, Denny; three. Do you think Pete took Ross for a deer more than once?”

“So that’s what you and Mr. Curious Jim is drivin’ at, hey? Well, you jest git to work and prove that I told Pete—”

“Hold on, Denny,—don’t convict yourself yet. I’d have locked you up first if that was what I wanted. I’m showing you the easy way out of it.”

“So Ross is after my scalp, hey? And he’s scared to come out—got to git behind you to do it.”

“No. Ross hasn’t said a word to me since the shooting. And from what I hear of him, I don’t think he’s scared either. This is my affair—and yours.”

“Yes, damn him. He druv me out of the asbestos, and now he’s tryin’ to drive me out of the country.”

“Suit yourself about that,” replied the sheriff suavely. “If Ross had come to me, perhaps you wouldn’t have had a chance to leave the country. Here are the facts. You bought the rifle and gave it to Pete. I traced it by the factory number. You sent Pete back after the—deer. I’ve got Axel’s word for that and his word is good. Cameron, here, picked up the three shells after you found the Injun in the road. Ross gave you the licking of your life at Lost Farm. He kept Avery from selling to Bascomb and you were the man that gave Bascomb the tip about the asbestos, and your indorsement is on the check Bascomb gave you—for the information. Besides, you blamed near gave yourself away just a minute ago. Now, do you want to stay and stand trial or do you want to look for a job up North? It’s up to you. Take it or leave it.”

The sturdy little sheriff bristled like a terrier facing an ox. He took his hat from the table. “I’m going to the station, Denny. I’ll wait there for the three forty-five going north. She’ll probably be late—but I’ll wait.”

“Hell!” said Harrigan, endeavoring to maintain a bluff front; “I’ll go—but I’m broke.”

“That’s all right. I expected that. You meet me over there and I’ll fix that up for you; but, just remember, this is strictly unofficial—and confidential,” he added, facing Cameron.

They descended the stairs and Harrigan, with a surly farewell, left them.

“Well, Jim,” said the sheriff, once more the rotund and smiling individual, “was it all right?”

“Well, I should smile. But say, Scotty, I’d jest like to know why you ast me to come up to the room and listen?”

“Oh, there are two or three reasons. One of them was that I wanted a witness in case—”

“I was watchin’ his pocket,” interrupted Jim. “I could ’a’ jumped on him afore he got his gun out.”

“Yes,” replied the sheriff, smiling, “and my deputy was in the clothes-press, in case of a row. You might run up and tell him the coast’s clear. Bet he’s about frozen.”

“Now, that’s one on me, Scotty—”

“Oh, it was a bluff, and Fisty didn’t have the nerve to call it.”

“I wasn’t meaning that.” Curious Jim drew himself up impressively. “I ain’t no constable or sheriff or detective, and I reckon I’m sort of a joke to some folks, but Dave Ross is a friend of mine. Reckon you know ’most everything what’s goin’ on, but you don’t know Dave Ross paid fur my doctorin’ when I had the ammonia,—advancin’ the money out of my pay as is comin’ fur next year,—and I reckon you’re thinkin’ I’d be proud-like to be the hull works at Fisty’s trial,—but thar’s where you’re wrong. All I want to do is to git Fisty where he can’t do no more shootin’, and if Fisty had ’a’ come at Ross a’ter he was married to Swickey Avery, by God! Scotty, I’d have plugged him m’self!”

“Shake!” said the sheriff, extending his hand.

A slow smile came to Cameron’s lean features as he pump-handled the extended “arm of the law” vigorously.

Then he turned and climbed the hotel steps, whistling like a schoolboy.