The jailer was only two steps from the door opening into the marshal’s office. He had but to take one backward leap and he would be free. But he never took that leap—for there was a deadly warning in Jim Allen’s eyes. And he knew the Wolf never missed.
With hands that trembled so that he could scarcely find the keyhole, Joe Elston hastily unlocked the door.
“She gave you—that gun?” he stammered.
“Mebbe so. But if yuh ever say it, I’ll come back an’ cut your throat,” said Allen quietly, as he forced the jailer into the cell. The very flatness of his voice convinced Elston that he would keep his promise. Allen locked the cell door, entered the office, and secured some rope. Then he returned and securely tied and gagged the jailer.
“You stay put!” he warned. “I’m comin’ back, an’ if you’ve moved an inch, I’ll sure fix yuh so yuh won’t move no more.”
The diminutive outlaw secured his guns and holsters from a hook in the office, then slipped out of the jail and stood in the shadow while he glanced down the street. He took the precaution of locking the outer door and then trotted toward the livery stable. Slivers Hart was waiting for him in the rear.
“So yuh made it?”
“Good kid, sendin’ the old lady,” Jim praised.
“Figgered she’d get to yuh, if anybody could. She tol’ me she always got her way with Pop by cryin’ real tears!”
Slivers grinned.