"I dropped a crowbar through the window-hole."
"The guards will be full curious when they hear the crowbar thumping."
"That's what's the matter. I sent some Holy Crawss greasers to feed them liquor, games, and music—'specially music."
"Will the Frontier Guards miss the big blood money for the sake of a flirt at skin games?"
"I reckon they'll watch, and the crowbar's going to be heard. So I made a run to see you. Here comes Cranky Joe."
"You trust him?"
"The sight of him makes my fur crawl."
"Here, Captain," says Cranky, offering the cocktail; but the outlaw bored him through with a cool eye.
"My name," says he, "is the Reverend Perkins, and don't you forget. Now you'll send Mutiny here, and you'll stand on guard yourself. If I get captured, a friend of mine is to send your present name and address to the penitentiary, where you're wanted most—so here's to your freedom." He drank, and we watched the man sneak off. "I turned him out of my gang," said the robber, "for being dishonest."
Mutiny strolled in and shook hands. "Old friend," says he, "what can we do to help?"