"Yes, that's true; and so let's clear out, and run away from Foxy. Better starve or die of cold alone and out in the open than live longer with this brute. Come, Tad—come quick, afore he wakes up."
"But we can't get out," whispered the elder lad. "Foxy locked the door, and the key's in his right trouser pocket, and he's lyin' on that side; we can't get it nohow."
"Then we'll get out at the winder," replied Phil. "See, it opens down the middle, and we can just squeeze through. Be quick, Tad; Foxy's snorin' like a hog now, but he may wake at any time."
Picking up their coats and caps, the boys opened the window, and just managed to get through, though for Tad it was a pretty tight fit.
Then away they went, lame, battered, and sore with their recent blows, but running at their best pace down the dark, crooked street, pausing not even to take breath, until they found themselves well outside the village, with miles of quiet open country stretching away before them, and a faint dawn just streaking the far-off east.
[CHAPTER XII]
A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY
"THERE'S one thing I wish we'd been able to do," said Phil, as soon as he could get breath enough to speak.
"And what's that?" asked Tad.
"Warn the people at that house we went to rob, and let 'em know there was burglars about," replied Phil. "I never thought of it till now, but we might have set up a screech or a loud whistle just to wake folks, and maybe frighten Paul and Jean and Foxy."