She refused to go home, but leaned against the bars and wept. Jim Allen patted her head and otherwise showed acute embarrassment of a man who is being cried over publicly. The jailer stood close by and seemed to enjoy the spectacle.
From somewhere outside the jail there came the report of two gunshots. The jailer turned and entered the office. The moment he was gone Mrs. Howes took a package from the fold of her skirt and passed it into Jim’s hand.
“Slivers is waiting with your horses in the lot back of the livery stable,” she said in a cool, collected, voice. Then suddenly she began to cry again. “Oh, Jim—Jim Allen!” The jailer had returned. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Come on out of here, ma’am,” he ordered. “Yuh go on back to Pop. ’Tain’t fit for you to take on like that!”
Mrs. Howes allowed herself to be led from the cell door, still pretending to weep. The moment the two disappeared Jim Allen unrolled the package. It contained a Colt .45. He grinned to himself.
“Who would have thought the ol’ gal had that much spunk? Gee, she sure can act!”
He threw himself on the bench in an attitude of abject despair. Minutes passed, precious minutes. At last Joe Elston returned. Jim’s eyes searched the man, as he stood by the bars jeering at him.
“Wolf, hell! You’re a hell of a wolf—cryin’ with old ladies!”
Then his mouth dropped open and he took a step backward.
“Yep, the ‘Killer Wolf’!” Jim Allen snapped. “An’ I’ll sure drill yuh if yuh don’t open that door pronto!”