"He got away!" blurted Critz. "Him and the girl! Both of them! We had him, but he managed to sock me one, and the other fellows fell down on the job. They're laying there — at Delmar's — half of them dead!" Bronlon's huge form slumped in its chair. Judge seemed stunned.
Deacon's face was long and melancholy.
"It will get traced to me, sure," groaned Critz. "When they see who the crowd is — well, the cops will be on my track sure."
Bronlon was nodding; but Judge interrupted.
"That won't happen for a while, Bronlon," he said quietly. "There's no reason why they should look for Critz right away. Vigilantes are illegal; but they have so many to take care of, that it will be some time before they think about others. Critz must get out tonight."
Bronlon nodded.
"He can go in one of your trucks," added Judge in an easy tone. "Let him take that shipment of boxes from the strong room, so it will look as though he is doing business for you.
Mr. Best here" — Judge indicated Deacon — "can go along to help him. That will aid him in his escape." Bronlon saw the shrewdness of the scheme. Apparently, Critz would have fled in a stolen truck. At the same time, the money would be taken away. It would be safe at its place of concealment long before the police began to seek Jake Critz. The flight of the man would also clear suspicion from the name of Harvey Bronlon.
"We'll help you out of this, Critz," declared Bronlon. "It will mean money for you, too. Enough so you can travel and keep away from here. Go down to the garage, and get the big truck. Bring it to the garage. Speak to no one."
Critz, nodding eagerly, hastened from the room. Judge arose and motioned to his companions.