"It's done," she said. "Joe and the Pedlar are sound asleep. They drank too much."
"Your father."
"Hasn't come home."
"And Jack Landis?"
"No matter what you do, he won't wake up; but be careful of his shoulder. It's badly torn. How can you carry him?"
She could not see Donnegan's flush, but she heard his teeth grit. And he slipped through the window, gesturing to George to come close. It was still darker inside the room—far darker than the starlit night outside. And the one path of lighter gray was the bed of Jack Landis. His heavy breathing was the only sound. Donnegan kneeled beside him and worked his arms under the limp figure.
And while he kneeled there a door in the house was opened and closed softly. Donnegan stood up.
"Is the door locked?"
"No," whispered the girl.
"Quick!"