“I thought it might be better if we––if we didn’t both hide in the same place,” whispered Lamy. “Then they’d only get one of us, an’ whichever it was they’d think he was the one they wanted, see?” He appeared excited.
Rathburn’s eyes narrowed. His right hand darted to his gun in a flash, and the muzzle of the weapon 66 was pressed into Lamy’s ribs. “Get down there!” commanded Rathburn. “Get down.”
Lamy hesitated with a wild look in his eyes. The muzzle of Rathburn’s gun pressed harder against his midriff. He dropped lightly into the cellar. Rathburn pulled the rug against the trapdoor as he followed, then let down the door, certain that the rug would fall into place.
The pair sat upon some gunny sacks in the little cellar until their eyes became accustomed to the darkness; they could dimly see each other by the faint light which came to them through some cracks in the floor above.
They heard steps at the rear of the house; then the pound of hoofs from in front. Rathburn saw Lamy staring at him fixedly with a puzzled look. He frowned at him. Rathburn still held his gun in his hand. Both had forgotten the food which Lamy had in his lap.
“Say,” whispered Lamy. “What was your idea in givin’ me back my gun?”
He moved closer to get the reply.
“Shut up!” said Rathburn, cocking an ear toward the trapdoor.
The sound of footsteps now was in the kitchen. They heard horses snorting and men dismounting at the front door. After a brief space there were light footsteps in the room above followed by the tramp of heavy boots.
“Good morning, ma’am,” came a deep voice.