They dropped flat on the ground and swore foolishly.
“Somebody is prospectin’,” opined Harp. “A foot lower and they’d ’a’ made a strike. Mebbe yuh like this, Brick, but old man Harris’ offspring desires a change of climate. Right above me is a window-sill, Brick; and from my point of view, I’d rather be inside that house.”
“Might be a happy idea,” admitted Brick. “Get up and see if the window is locked.”
“Thank yuh very kindly—but that ain’t my suggestion, Brick.”
Brick slid to a crouching position, straightened up close to the wall and examined the window. It slid up silently.
“C’mon,” whispered Brick.
Swiftly they slid in through the window and the cheap calico curtain dropped behind them, leaving them in total darkness.
Silent Slade lowered his head and looked at himself in the back-bar mirror. He tilted his hat down over his eyes, lifted his head as he sang—
“When I’m dead don’t bury me a-ta-a-a-a-all,