"Listen a minute, pally: if you'll hold that gun right stiddy where it is and let out a yell 'r two, you can earn five hundred doughboys. Ye didn't know that, did you?"
"I know you broke jail and skipped for it, but I didn't know how much the warden was willing to pay to get you back."
"It's five hundred bones, all right. Study a minute: don't you want the five hundred?"
"No; not bad enough to send you back to 'stir' for it."
There was a dead silence for the space of a long minute, and while it endured the man sat motionless, with his back against the wall and his hands locked over his knees. Then: "They'd all pat you on the back if yous was to let out that yell. I brought ten years with me when the warden give me my number, and I'm thinkin' they was comin' to me—all o' them."
"But you don't want to go back?"
"Not me; if it was to come to that, I'd a damned sight rather you'd squeeze a little harder on that trigger you've got under your finger; see?"
"Then why did you take this long chance?" I demanded. "You say you knew I had spotted you; you might have known that I'd be ready for you."
"I kind o' hoped you would," he said, drawling the words. "Yes; I sure did hope ye would—not but what I'm thinkin' I could 'a' done it alone."
"Done what alone? What are you driv——"