IS ETHICS

Rathburn's eyes held the other's as completely as would have been the
case if he were invested with a power to charm in some occult way.
Moreover, every trace of his amiable, confiding smile was gone. His
gaze was hard and cold and gleaming. His face was drawn into grim
lines. When he spoke he talked smoothly, rapidly, and with an edge to
his words which convinced his listener that he was in deadly earnest.

"I'm not used to jails, my friend, an' I don't aim to stay here.
You're not very far away an' these bars are wide enough for me to miss
'em; but I don't think I could miss you."

The jailer looked in horror at the gleaming knife which Rathburn held
by its hilt with the blade pointing backward. The jailer was from the
border; he knew the awful possibilities of a quick motion of the wrist
in that position, a half turn of the knife as it streaked toward its
target. He shuddered again.

"Now just edge this way about two steps so your holster will be
against the bars," Rathburn instructed. "I can drop you where you
stand, reach through the bars an' drag you close if need be; but I'm
banking on you having some good sense."

The jailer, without moving the hands which held the pencil and his
pocketknife, sidled up against the bars.

Rathburn leaned forward. Keeping his right hand high and tipped back,
ready for the throw, he reached out with his left, just through the
bars, and secured the jailer's gun.

"Now it's all off," he said quietly. "If the sheriff or anybody else
comes before I get out of here I'm just naturally going to have to
live up to the reputation for shooting that they've fastened on me.
Unlock the door."

The jailer wet his lips with his tongue. The pencil and pocketknife
fell to the floor. Covered by his own gun, now in Rathburn's hand, he
moved to the door, brought out his key, and opened it. Still keeping
him covered, Rathburn backed to the bench, snatched up his coat, and
walked out of the cage, motioning to the jailer to precede him into
the office.

There he slipped the gun in his holster and put on his coat. The
jailer reckoned better than to try to leap upon him while he was thus
engaged; the prisoner's speed with a six-gun was well known.

Rathburn drew a peculiar leather case from within his shirt, put the
knife in it, and stowed it away in a pocket. Then he turned on the
jailer.

"Maybe you think that was a mean trick--resorting to a knife," he said
pleasantly; "but a