“Bully for you,”replied the other in a low tone; and passed on.
No one would have guessed that in that brief instant a criminal act had been arranged. Nor did Tom Connor, as he went chuckling up the street, guess that by his lawless recovery of the widow’s property he had given Yetmore the excuse he longed for to defy the law himself. Least of all did any of them—not even Long John—guess that between them they were to come within an ace of snuffing out the lives of two innocent outsiders, namely, Joe Garnier and myself. Yet such was the case. It was only the accidental putting in of Tom’s second window that saved us.
Long John, being authorized to proceed, at once made his preparations, which were simple enough, and all he wanted now was an opportunity. By an unlooked-for chance, which, with his perverted sense of right and wrong, seemed to him to be providential, his opportunity turned up that very night.
The miner, George Simpson, hastening homeward from Connor’s house, happened to overtake Long John in the street, and as he passed gave him a friendly “Good-night.”
“Good-night,”said John. “You’re late to-night, aren’t you?”
“Yes, a bit late. One of our men’s sick, and I’ve been fixing things so’s he won’t lose his job. Tom Connor and I are going to work his shift for him.”
“So!”cried Long John, with sudden interest. “Which half do you take?”
“The second. Tom’s gone off already, and I’m going to relieve him at eleven. So I must be getting along: I want my supper and two or three hours’ sleep.”
So Tom would be out of his house till eleven o’clock! Such a chance might never occur again. Long John hastened home at once and got everything ready.
As it would not do to start too early, because people might be about, John waited till nearly ten o’clock, and then sallied out. As he rounded the corner of his shack a furious blast of wind, driving the rain before it, almost knocked him over.