The round came out easier than he had expected and he tried a few tentative scratches on the concrete at the base of the bar. It raised a little dust, but he realized that it would mean long hours of labor before he could accomplish anything in that way, and there was something else which must be done at once. He did not give a rap for Roberts and, as Murphy had predicted, would have seen him hung without so much as raising a finger to help him. Moreover, he knew that Roberts in a like situation would never have done anything to help him. Just the same he was extremely anxious to get word to Roberts at all costs, not to save Roberts but to warn him that the Service men would be looking for him in the morning so that he would be well prepared. If Roberts could ambush them and murder them he, Qualley, would feel that his debt of hatred had been paid and, too, he might stand some show of getting free, for there was not any one else around there who knew anything about his crime or would be likely to prefer charges against him. Moreover, with Roberts captured, he would not stand any show at all. He very well knew that Roberts would tell everything he knew about him and would rather die than see Qualley get away if he could not make it himself.
So the first thing to do was to get word to Roberts; there would be time enough for the digging when that was done. Perhaps he could catch somebody going by before the jailer was up. He took up his position by the window and watched patiently, but the jail was in an out-of-the-way place and he heard some one moving about in the jail before he had seen any one outside.
Well, possibly the jailer was not above a bribe. He had made plenty of money in the last two years out of the logs he had stolen, he was rich, and he could offer the jailer more money than he had ever dreamed of. He waited anxiously for some one to bring his breakfast. It was about eight o’clock when he heard a door open somewhere and the jailer himself appeared with a tray.
“Calmed down a little, have you?” the jailer asked, eyeing him somewhat doubtfully.
“Yes,” Qualley admitted with a sheepish laugh, “I lost my head for a few minutes last night. It is enough to drive any man crazy to be popped into jail on a false charge with no chance to explain. It’s tough.”
“Yes,” the jailer agreed, “it’s tough all right if it’s true. The judge will straighten it out pretty quick if there is anything crooked about it, but that fellow is not much on making false charges, he isn’t.”
“Well, he has slipped up this time. Didn’t even give me time to go over to the camp and tell them that I would not be back for a few days. If I could have given them a few directions it would have been all right; as it is everything there will go to pot. A lumber camp won’t run itself.”
“Maybe you will get bailed out in a couple of days.”
“Sure I’ll get bailed out in a couple of days, but it is the next couple of days I am worrying about. Say, if I should put up five thousand dollars bail with you, couldn’t you let me slip over there for a day to straighten things out?”
“I’ll telephone the judge and ask him about it,” the man grinned. He seemed to think it was a very good joke, but a glance at his prisoner sent him hastily out the door, for there seemed to be strong indications that Qualley was going to throw another fit. But he managed to control himself quickly.