"Hot!" she exclaimed. "Why, it's cold. What's the matter with you?"
"It's these barred-up city places; they knock me out. I smother in 'em." He threw back the window and stood in the opening. "I'll shut it in a minute."
She pulled up the Navajo blanket and cowering under it said with vengeful zest:
"I guess there won't be a more surprised person in this burg than Mr.
Boyé Mayer when they come after him."
"Do you know when they're calculatin' to do it?"
"Thursday or Friday. Charlie said he was going to give the Express people his information some time tomorrow and after they'd fixed things he'd spring the story in the Despatch."
"If he gives it in tomorrow they'll have him by evening."
"I don't think they'll be in any rush. Mr. Mayer's not going to skip; he's too busy with his courting."
There was no reply, and pulling the blanket higher, for the night air struck cold, she went on in her embittered self-torment:
"I wanted to give him a jolt myself and I tried, but I might as well have stayed out. You and me show up pretty small when the law gets busy. That's the time for us to lie low and watch. And he thinking himself so safe, drawing out all the money. Maybe it was to buy her presents or get his wedding clothes. I'd like—"