"So long--" sang out the other, and Dorothy heard him cross the porch and thump down the steps.
She was busily engaged in flexing her stiff fingers. She began to feel better, stronger, quite like her old self again. But the news that two men were badly hurt was anything but comforting. Was Bill one of them? she wondered.
With an effort, she thrust the thought from her, and drawing forth a comb and a compact from a pocket, she commenced the complicated process of making herself presentable. If she was to make her escape before the rest of the gang arrived she must work fast. But not too fast, for every second brought back renewed strength to her cramped arms and fingers.
"How's that?" she asked a few minutes later, replacing comb and compact in her pocket and getting to her feet.
"Say! You're some looker! I'd never have thought it!"
Mike pushed back his chair and came toward her, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. "Say! You've got Sadie lashed to the silo!"
"Who's Sadie? Your steady?" she asked, playfully pointing a forefinger at him.
Mike leaned back against the table. "Never mind Sadie," he retorted. "I've got an idea."
"Spill it."
"You wanta breeze--get outa here, don't yer?"