The Butcher, heavy with wonderment, obeyed mechanically--and P. Walton drew a rat-tail file from his pocket.

"I saw you in the express car this afternoon, and I went to the roundhouse for this when I left the office," P. Walton said, as he set to work on the steel links. "But I was feeling kind of down and out, and was going to leave you till to-morrow night--only I heard they were going to lynch you at midnight."

"Lynch me!" growled the Butcher. "What fer? They don't lynch a fellow 'cause he's nipped in a hold-up--we didn't kill no one."

"Some of the cowboys are looking for amus.e.m.e.nt," said P. Walton monotonously. "They've distributed red-eye among the Polacks, for the purpose, I imagine, of putting the blame--on the Polacks."

"I get you!" snarled the Butcher, with an oath. "It's de Bar K Ranch--we took their payroll away from 'em two weeks ago. Lynchin', eh? Well, some of 'em 'll dance on air fer this themselves, blast 'em!

Dook, yer white--an' you always was. I thought me luck was out fer keeps to-day when Spud--you saw Spud, didn't you?"

"Yes," said P. Walton, filing steadily.

"Spud always had a soft spot in his heart," said the Butcher. "Instead of drilling that devil, Nulty, when he had the chance, Nulty filled Spud full of holes, an' we fluked up--yer gettin' a bit of my wrist, Dook, with that d.a.m.ned file. Well, as I said, I thought me luck was out fer keeps--an' _you_ show up. Gee! Who'd have thought of seein'

de Angel Dook, de prize penman, de gem of forgers! How'd you make yer getaway--you was in fer twenty s.p.a.ces, wasn't you?"

"I think they wanted to save the expense of burying me," said P.

Walton. "The other wrist, Butch. I got a pardon."

"What's de matter with you, Dook?" inquired the Butcher solicitously.

"Lungs," said P. Walton tersely. "Bad."

"h.e.l.l!" said the Butcher earnestly.

There was silence for a moment, save only for the rasping of the file, and then the Butcher spoke again.

"What's yer lay out here, Dook?" he asked.

"Working for the railroad in the super's office--and keeping my mouth shut," said P. Walton.

"There's nothin' in that," said the Butcher profoundly. "Nothin' to it!"

"Not much," agreed P. Walton. "Forty a month, and--oh, well, forty a month."

"I'll fix that fer you, Dook," said the Butcher cheerily. "You join de gang. There's de old crowd from Joliet up here in de mountains. We got a swell layout. There's Larry, an' Big Tom, an' Dago Pete--Spud's cashed in--an' they'll stand on their heads an' yell Salvation Army songs when they hear that de slickest of 'em all--that's you, Dook--is buyin' a stack an' settin' in."

"No," said P. Walton. "No, Butch, I guess not--it's me for the forty per."

"Eh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Butcher heavily. "You don't mean to say you've turned parson, Dook? You wouldn't be lettin' me loose if you had."

"No; nothing like that," replied P. Walton. "I'm sitting tight because I have to--until some one turns up and gives my record away--if I'm not dead first. I'm too sick, Butch, to be any use to you--I couldn't stand the pace."

"Sure, you could," said the Butcher rea.s.suringly. "Anyway, I'm not fer leavin' a pal out in de cold, an'----" He stopped suddenly, and leaned toward P. Walton. "What was it you said you was doin' in de office?"

he demanded excitedly.

"a.s.sistant clerk to the superintendent," said P. Walton--and his file bit through the second link. "You'll have to get the bracelets off your wrists when you get back to the boys--your hands are free."

"Say," said the Butcher breathlessly, "it's a cinch! You see de letters, an' know what's goin' on pretty familiar-like, don't you?"

"Yes," said P. Walton.

"Well, say, can you beat it!" Once more the Butcher invoked the universe. "You're de inside man, see? Gee--it's a cinch! We only knew there was mazuma on de train to-day by a fluke, just Spud an' me heard of it, too late to plan anything fancy an' get de rest of de gang. You see what happened? After this we don't have to take no chances. You pa.s.ses out de word when there's a good juicy lot of swag comin' along, we does de rest, and you gets your share--equal. An'

that ain't all. They'll be sendin' down East fer de Pinkertons, if they ain't done it already, an' we gives 'em de laugh--you tippin' us off on de trains de 'd.i.c.ks' are ridin' on, an' puttin' us wise to 'em generally. An' say"--the Butcher's voice dropped suddenly to a low, sullen, ugly growl--"you give us de lay de first crack we make when that low-lived, snook-nosed Nulty's aboard. He goes out fer Spud--an'

he goes out quick. He's fired a gun de last time he'll ever fire one--see?"

P. Walton felt around on the ground, picked up the bit of chain he had filed from the handcuffs, and handed it, with the file, to the Butcher.

"Put these in your pocket, Butch," he said, "and throw them in the river where it's deep when you get a chance--especially the file. I guess from the way you put it I could earn my stake with the gang."

"Didn't I tell you, you could!" The Butcher, with swift change of mood, grinned delightedly. "Sure, you can! Larry's an innocent-lookin' kid, an' he's not known in de town. He'll float around an' get de bulletins from you--you'll know ahead when there's anything good comin' along, won't you?"

"When it leaves the coast," said P. Walton. "Thirty-six hours--sometimes more."

"An' I thought me luck was out fer keeps!" observed the Butcher, in an almost awe-struck voice.

"Well, don't play it too hard by hanging around here until they get you again," cautioned P. Walton dryly. "The further you get away from Big Cloud in the next few hours, the better you'll like it to-morrow."

"I'm off now," announced the Butcher, rising to his feet. "Dook, you're white--all de way through. Don't forget about Nulty, blast him!" He wrung P. Walton's hand with emotion. "So long, Dook!"

"So long, Butch!" said P. Walton.

P. Walton watched the Butcher disappear in the darkness, then he began to retrace his steps toward the Polack quarters. His one thought now was to reach his bunk. He was sick, good and sick, and those premonitory symptoms, if they had been arrested, were still with him.

The day had been too much for him--the jostling on the platform, mostly when he had fought his way through the rear of the crowd for fear of an unguarded recognition on the part of the Butcher; then the walking he had done; and, lastly, that run from the sheriff's shed.

P. Walton, with swimming head and choking lungs, reeled a little as he went along. It was farther, quite a lot farther, to go by the fields, and he was far enough down from Carruthers' now so that it would not make any difference anyhow, even if the Butcher's escape had been discovered--which it hadn't, the town was too quiet for that. P.

Walton headed into a cross street, staggered along it, reached the corner of Main Street--and, fainting, went suddenly down in a heap, as the hemorrhage caught him, and the bright, crimson "ruby" stained his lips.

Coming up the street from a conference in the super's office, Nulty, the express messenger, big, brawny, hard-faced, thin-lipped, swung along, dragging fiercely at his pipe, scowling grimly as he reviewed the day's happenings. He pa.s.sed a little knot of Polacks, quite obviously far gone in liquor--and almost fell over P. Walton's body.

"Hullo!" said Nulty. "What the deuce is this!" He bent down for a look into the unconscious man's face. "The super's clerk!" he exclaimed--and stared around for help.

There was no one in sight, save the approaching Polacks--but one of these hurriedly, if unsteadily, lurched forward.

"Meester Walton!" announced Ivan Peloff genially. "Him be sick--yes?"

"Where's he live?" demanded Nulty, without waste of words.

"Him by me live," said Ivan Peloff, tapping his chest proudly as he swayed upon his feet. He called to his companions, and reached for P.

Walton's legs. "We take him by us home."

"Let him alone!" said Nulty gruffly, as the interior of a Polack shanty pictured itself before his eyes.

"Him by me live," repeated Ivan Peloff, still reaching doggedly, if uncertainly, for P. Walton's legs.

"Let him alone, I tell you, you drunken Guinea!" roared Nulty suddenly, and his arm went out with a sweep that brushed Ivan Peloff back to an ultimate seat in the road three yards away. Without so much as a glance in the direction taken by the other, Nulty stepped up to the rest of the Polacks, stared into their faces, and selecting the one that appeared less drunk than the others, unceremoniously jerked the man by the collar into the foreground. "You know me!" he snapped.

"I'm Nulty--Nulty. Say it!"

"Nultee," said the bewildered foreigner.