“Open that thing,” said somebody.
The man smiled drily. “I couldn’t do it if I wanted to. I’ve given my keys away.”
One or two of the homesteaders glanced a trifle anxiously behind them. The corridor was filling up, and it dawned upon them that if anything barred their egress they would be helpless.
“Then what are you stopping for?” asked somebody.
“It’s in my contract,” said the jailer quietly. “I was raised in Kentucky. You don’t figure I’m scared of you?”
“No use for talking,” said a man. “You can’t argue with him. Go ahead with your axes and beat the blamed thing in.”
It cost them twenty minutes’ strenuous toil; but the grille went down, and two of the foremost seized the jailer.
“Let him go,” said Grant quietly. “Now, we can’t fool time away with you. Where’s the Sheriff?”
“I don’t quite know,” said the jailer, and the contempt in his voice answered the question.
Grant laughed a little. “Well,” he said, “I guess he’s sensible. Now, what you have got to do is to bring out the two homesteaders as quick as you can.”