“Oh, do you think there is a chance that they were not in that office?” asked Miss Miller anxiously, hopefully.
“I couldn’t wake ’em up,” explained Silent. “I hammered on the front door and then the back door hammered on me.”
“The store is on fire, Ma,” said Cale Wesson, joining them. “There goes everythin’ we own—almost.”
“Well, we ain’t in it, Cale. There’s always somethin’ to be thankful for.”
“Yeah, I reckon so, Ma. Don’t get too close, folks. There a drum of kerosene in there and a lot of ca’tridges. The kerosene will go straight up, I s’pose; but nobody knows which way all them shells are pointin’.”
“I hope they’re pointin’ toward the jigger that set off that dynamite,” said Cale after a moment’s pause.
“I don’t,” grunted Silent. “I want that pleasure m’self.”
For several minutes Brick and Harp remained motionless. The house was as silent as the tomb. Then Brick scratched a match, shielding it with his hands, as he reflected the light around.
To the right of them was the rear door, while directly across the room was another window. Brick went to the door and locked it securely, crossed and looked at the window, finding it nailed down.