“No; they won't—the corral hides the back door, an' all the firing is on this side. I can sneak along the back wall an' by keeping the buildings atween me an' them, get a long ways off before they know anything about it. Then it's a dash—an' they can't catch me. But can you fellers hold out if I do?”
“Two can hold out as good as three—go ahead,” Johnny replied. “Leave me some of yore Colt cartridges, though. You can't use 'em all before you get home.”
“Don't stop fer that; there's a shelfful of all kinds behind the counter,” Barr interposed.
“Well, so long an' good luck,” and the rear door closed, and softly this time.
“Two hours is some wait under the present circumstances,” Barr muttered, shifting his position behind his barricade. “He can't do it in less, nohow.”
Johnny ducked and looked foolish. “Missed me by a foot,” he explained. “He can't do it in two—not there an' back,” he replied. “The trail is mud over the fetlocks. Give him three at the least.”
“They ain't shooting as much as they was before.”
“Waiting till they gets sober, I reckon,” Johnny replied.
“If we don't hear no ruction in a few minutes we'll know he got away all right,” Barr soliloquized. “An' he's got a fine cayuse for mud, too.”
“Hey, why can't you do the same thing if he makes it?” Johnny suddenly asked. “I can hold her alone, all right.”