“Sufferin’ Mike!” said the bridge-man; “and you’d take a chance lockin’ him up?”
The big chief chuckled.
“There’ll be a row kicked up about it, I suppose, and Mr. Richard Maxwell’ll be pretty hot under the collar. But everything’s fair in love or war—or in business. We’ve got to have that canyon right-of-way. Finished your pipe? All right; we’ll turn in. This waiting game makes me as sleepy as a house cat in daytime.”
But the bridge-builder had another word to add and he added it.
“If these boys belong to Ackerman’s party—and I s’pose there’s no doubt of that—it won’t do to let ’em get loose. Are they safe, in that tool-house?”
“As safe as a clock. There’s only the one door, and I’ve told Mexican Miguel to take his blankets and make himself a shake-down for the night just outside of it. He’ll hear ’em if they make any stir. But they won’t. Being boys, they’ll sleep like a couple of logs.”
After the two men had gone across to the bunk house the boys still waited, though now it was with impatience curdling the very blood in their veins, since they realized that every minute was precious if the canyon steal was to be prevented. Again and again Dick’s excitement yelled for action, but each time Larry pulled him down with a “Not yet,” until at length Dick was sure it must be nearly midnight.
When Larry finally gave the word they crept to a window on the side of the building opposite that which faced the camp area, pulled out its single fastening nail, slid the sash, and in a jiffy they were out under the stars and free. Careful to the last, Larry turned and softly closed the window after they were out, “Just so the first man up in the morning won’t know that we’re gone,” he whispered. “It’s pinching me now that such minutes as we can save even that way are going to count.”
“Which way do we go?” Dick asked, being completely turned around in the darkness.