"I'd much prefer going to some place where
I was less sure of meeting you," I retorted; "and as for the cowboys,
you'll have to be as tricky with them as you want to be with me before
you'll get them to back you up in your dirty work."
At this point the sheriff called back to ask Camp if he was coming.
"All right," cried Camp, and went to the door. "This is the last
call," he snarled, pausing for a moment on the threshold.
"I hope so," said I, more calmly in manner than in feeling, I have to
acknowledge, for I didn't like the look of things. That they were in
earnest I felt pretty certain, for I understood now why they had let
my companions out of jail. They knew that angry cowboys were a trifle
undiscriminating, and didn't care to risk hanging more than was
necessary.
A long time seemed to pass after they were gone, but in reality it
wasn't more than fifteen minutes before I heard some one steal up
and softly unlock the door. I confess the evident endeavor to do
it quietly gave me a scare, for it seemed to me it couldn't be an
above-board movement. Thinking this, I picked up the box on which I
had been sitting and prepared to make the best fight I could. It was a
good deal of relief, therefore, when the door opened just wide enough
for a man to put in his head, and I heard the sheriff's voice say,
softly--
"Hi, Gordon!"
I was at the door in an instant, and asked--
"What's up?"
"They're gettin' the fellers together, and sayin' that yer shot a
woman in the hold-up.
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