“No matter; I will not be taken alive.”
She moaned in her distress, helplessly wringing her hands. “O God! Why should I be witness of this?”
“You won’t be. If this is the sheriff I am going to open that door and make a dash. What happens will happen outside. You need not see it. I’m sorry you have to hear it. But I give you my word—if you must hear something I will see to it that you hear as little as possible.”
The latch clicked—he stepped back, and again stood waiting, silent, rigid, ready to act, murderous in design.
Mrs. Adams entered quickly, and, closing the door behind her, hurriedly whispered: “It’s the sheriff. Hide! The men will hold them as long as they can. Hide!”
The outlaw looked about and smiled. “Where?” he asked, almost humorously. “I’m not a squirrel.”
“Under the bunk. See, there is room.”
He shook his head. “No, I refuse to crawl. I won’t sneak. I never have. I take ’em as they come.”
“For my sake,” pleaded Alice. “I can’t bear to see you killed. Hide yourself. Go to the door,” she said to Peggy. “Don’t let them in. Tell Freeman—” She rose and stood unsteadily, forgetful of her own pain.
Mrs. Adams urged her to lie down, but she would not. The moments passed in suspense almost too great to be endured.