“No,” she went on, “I don't believe what they said—you got too good a face; but if you are a murderer you get out now before they come an' I'll send 'em on a wild-goose chase in the wrong direction.”
“But these,” said Billy. “We can't leave these here.”
“Tie 'em up and give me the shotgun,” she said. “I'll bet they don't come any more funny business on me.” She had regained both her composure and her nerve by this time.
Together Billy and Bridge trussed up the two tramps. An elephant couldn't have forced the bonds they placed upon them. Then they carried them down cellar and when they had come up again Mrs. Shorter barred the cellar door.
“I reckon they won't get out of there very fast,” she said. “And now you two boys run along. Got any money?” and without waiting for a reply she counted twenty-five dollars from the roll she had tucked in the front of her waist and handed them to Billy.
“Nothin' doin',” said he; “but t'anks just the same.”
“You got to take it,” she insisted. “Let me make believe I'm givin' it to my boy, Eddie—please,” and the tears that came to her eyes proved far more effective than her generous words.
“Aw, all right,” said Billy. “I'll take it an' pass it along to Eddie if I ever meet him, eh?”
“Now please hurry,” she urged. “I don't want you to be caught—even if you are a murderer. I wish you weren't though.”
“I'm not,” said Billy; “but de law says I am an' what de law says, goes.”