“We wanted to,” Doty answered, “but you're new at the business, an' you talked so big we didn't like to make you feel little.”
“Here they come!” the sheriff went on, as the stout gate swayed inwards. “One more good lick an' it's down. That's it. Now keep the dirt dancin', Doty, but don't hurt anybody.”
Mr. Morris was in the lead, and apparently did not see the “dancin' dirt,” for he approached the jail at a run.
“It's no use, Doty,” the sheriff said; “all we can do is to wait till they get in, for I'm not going to shoot anybody. It may be wrong to lynch, but in a case like this it's the rightest wrong that ever was.” So the sheriff sat there thinking, while Doty watched the attack from the window.
According to his calculations of time and distance, the sheriff thought that the prisoner was now so far on his way as to be almost out of danger by pursuit, and his mind was busy with the other question as to what would happen when the jail was found to be empty. He had not heard from Judge More, but the answer could not have reached him after the attack began. He felt sure that the judge would come, and come by the earliest train, which was now nearly due.
“The old man'll come if he can,” he said to himself, “and he'll help me if he comes; and I wish the train would hurry.”
He felt glad when he remembered that he had given the keys of the cells to his brother, for though he would try to save further destruction of property by telling the mob that the jail was empty, he felt quite sure that they would not believe him, and in default of keys, would break open every door in the building; which obstinacy would grant him more time in which to hope for Judge More and arbitration. That it was possible for him to slip out once the besiegers had broken in never occurred to him; his only thought was to stay where he was until the end came, whatever that might be. They were taking longer than he had expected, and every moment was a gain.
Doty Buxton came in from the hall, where he had gone to watch operations. “The do' is givin',” he said; “what'll you do?”
“Nothin',” the sheriff answered, slowly.
“Won't you give 'em the keys?”