Sundown's face expressed conflicting emotions. He straightened his lean shoulders. "I tell you, Billy; if you beat it now, they won't be nothin' to squeal about."
"I'm going to." And Corliss stepped toward the safe. "Just hold that light this way a minute."
Sundown complied, and Corliss thought that the other had overcome his scruples. Corliss hastily drew a small canvas sack from the safe and stuffed it into his pocket. Sundown backed toward the door.
Corliss got to his feet. "Well, so-long, Sun. Guess I'll light out."
"Not with that," said Sundown. "I ain't no preacher, but I ain't goin' to see you go straight to hell and me do nothin'. Mebby some of that dough is yourn. I dunno. But somebody's goin' to get pinched for takin' it. Bein' a Bo, it'll be me."
"So that's what's worrying you, eh? Scared you'll get sent over for this. Well, you won't. You haven't got anything on you."
"'T ain't that, Billy. It's you."
Corliss laughed. "You're getting religion, too. Well, I never thought you'd go back on me."
"I ain't. I was always your friend, Billy."
Corliss hesitated. The door behind Sundown moved ever so little. Corliss's eyes held Sundown with unwinking gaze. Slowly the door swung open. Sundown felt rather than heard a presence behind him. Before he could turn, something crashed down on his head. The face of his old friend, intense, hard, desperate, was the last thing imaged upon his mind as the room swung round and he dropped limply to the floor.