Brick whirled and ran to Harp, who had managed to claw the bar away from the door, and without a thought of what might be waiting outside for them, they darted out into the night.
But no one tried to block them now, as they pounded heavily away from the house, circling toward the bluff trail. After about two hundred yards at top speed, Brick stopped and looked back. Not a light was showing in the old ranch-house. They listened, but there was not a sound.
“By , that ’breed female came darned near to bein’ the death of us,” panted Harp. “Didja see anybody, Brick?”
“No. I shot once at the trap-door and once at the candle, but I didn’t see nobody. Pretty foxy, eh? Their foolish move was in openin’ that trap so soon. If they’d ’a’ waited a little while, we’d ’a’ been easy pickin’, I reckon.”
“By golly, there was more than one person in that deal, Brick.”
“Oh, yeah. Well” Brick drew a deep breath and hitched up his belt. “I reckon we’ve got to walk to Marlin City, cowboy.”
It was at least fifteen miles; and fifteen miles is a long ways, walking on high-heeled boots.
“Let’s go over to the Red Hill mine and borrow a couple of broncs from Barney Devine,” suggested Harp.
“That’s a pious idea,” agreed Brick. “And if he ain’t got no rollin’ stock, we’ll stay all night and ride in on the stage tomorrow. It’s sure a nice thing for the sheriff to let somebody steal his horses. But,” he added optimistically, “I reckon I’m about the only one in Sun Dog that could have his horses stolen without yellin’ to high Heaven for a new sheriff.”
“I’m kinda in favor of a new one m’self,” grunted Harp. “And I hope to gosh he ain’t so friendly to me that I can’t refuse to be his deputy.”