Danner turned quickly toward the Kid, but just at that instant a dark fluttering form flew out of the misty gloom and enveloped Schypalski; it was his wife, who had been waiting all the afternoon outside the jail. She clung to the Pole, who was as surprised as any of them, and she wept and kissed him in her Slavonic fashion,--wept and kissed as only the Slavs can weep and kiss. Then Danner, when he realized what had occurred, seized her and flung her aside.
"You damn bitch!" he said. "I'll show you!"
"That's right, Danner," said the Kid. "You've got some one your size now! Soak her again."
Danner whirled, his anger loose now, and struck the Kid savagely in the face. The line thrilled through its entire length; wild, vague hopes of freedom suddenly blazed within the breasts of these men, and they tugged at the chains that bound them. Utter, watching from the door, ran down the walk, and Danner drew his revolver.
"Get into that wagon!" he shouted, and then he hurled after them another mouthful of the oaths he always had ready. The little sensation ended, the hope fell dead, and the prisoners moved doggedly on. In a second the Kid had recovered himself, and then, speaking thickly, for the blood in his mouth, he said in a low voice:
"Danner, you coward, I'll serve you out for that, if I get the chair for it!"
It was all still there in the gloom and the misty rain, save for the shuffle of the feet, the occasional click of a handcuff chain, and presently the sobbing of the Polish woman rising from the wet ground. Danner hustled his line along, and a moment later they were clambering up the steps of the patrol wagon.
"Well, for God's sake!" exclaimed the driver, "I thought you'd never get here! Did you want to keep these horses standing out all night in the wet?"
The men took their seats inside, those at the far end having to hold their hands across the wagon because they were chained together, and the wagon jolted and lurched as the driver started his team and went bowling away for the station. The Pole was weeping.
"The poor devil!" said the pickpocket. "That's a pretty little broad he has. Can't you fellows do something for him? Give him a cigarette--or--a chew--or--something." Their resources of comfort were so few that the Kid could think of nothing more likely.