CHAPTER XXXII
THE TRIUMPH OF SMALLBONES
Peter had been talking. Now he paused listening. Jake and Gay turned their eyes toward the swing doors. Silas Rocket, who had availed himself of the respite to wipe a few glasses, paused in his work. He, too, was listening. But the almost mechanical process of cleaning glasses was resumed at once. Not even life or death could long interfere with his scheme of money-making. He had seen too much of the forceful side of his customers in his time to let such a thing as a simple murder interfere with his long established routine.
It was Jim who now spoke. He was the calmest of those present, except perhaps Silas Rocket. He appeared to have no fear of the consequences of this affair to himself. Perhaps it was the confidence of innocence. Perhaps it was the great courage of a brave man for whom death––even a disgraceful death––has no terrors. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what he was saving the woman he loved, which served to inspire him. His eyes were even smiling as he looked into Peter’s.
“They’re coming along,” he said, with one ear turned toward the door.
Peter nodded.
“It’s them, sure,” he said.
“I ken hear the buckboard. It’s movin’ slow,” said Gay solemnly.