“It looks as if you’re right, Pipe,” admitted Roy sadly; “but losing a share of the reward don’t hurt me half as much as knowing what this means to Fred and his folks.”
“Time’s up,” announced Constable Hubbard, snapping shut the case of his silver watch and dropping it into his pocket. “Come on, Mr. Crook; for’ard, march!”
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE TWO PRISONERS.
As the key rattled in the lock of the heavily barred door the wounded prisoner looked up from the cot on which he was lying and saw the second captive marched into the room by Constable Hubbard.
“I guess,” said the constable, “I can chance it to take the irons off ye while you’re in here, for we’ve got the place guarded by men who would shoot ye quick as they’d spit if you ever did break out, which ain’t nohow prob’le.”
“Thank you,” said the man, as Hubbard removed the handcuffs. “I won’t try to break out, I promise you that.”
“And I’d be a fool if I took any stock in your promise,” said the fat officer, as he backed out of the room, closing and relocking the door.
With a grimace of pain, the wounded man lifted himself to a sitting posture on the cot. The eyes of the two prisoners met.
“So they nabbed you after all, Thirteen-thirteen,” said the first prisoner. “Tough luck, old pal. I told yer to lay low.”
The other man shrugged his shoulders. “I did,” he answered; “but they surrounded the place and had me pinched, so there was no use trying to make a run for it. If I’d tried that, the chances were a hundred to one that the damage to your wing wouldn’t have been a patch compared to what would have happened to me.”