“Gimme your right hand,” whispered Freel, and Skeeter felt the circle of steel click around his wrist as Freel snapped the handcuff.
Another click showed that Freel had locked the other cuff to his own left wrist.
“Come on, easy,” ordered Freel, and they went softly to the back door, which Freel unbarred, and they passed out into the night, which was as black as the proverbial black cat.
Gusts of wind filled the air with clouds of dust, and from the western range came the thudding roll of heavy thunder. The drouth of the valley of the Moon River was about to be broken.
Freel led Skeeter Bill wide of the town, the lights of which were blotted out in the dust-clouds and dark. They stumbled across the railroad track and swung back toward the depot, where Freel led Skeeter in behind a pile of old ties.
Lightning flashed across the sky, but even its light came to them in murky flares, owing to the dust.
“I reckon that —— is about to bust,” said Freel.
“Let her bust,” grunted Skeeter. “This is the first time I never was timid about —— bustin’.”
“Couldn’t have picked a better night,” declared Freel with much satisfaction.
“That’s right,” agreed Skeeter. “I allus said it would be a wet night when I went to the penitentiary. I don’t mind sneakin’ out of the pen, but I hate like —— to have t’ sneak into one.”