“Good-by, June. You stay here until I tell yuh when to come out—if I last that long.”
“Good-by, Jack.” June’s face was white and drawn. “I forced you into this. If it hadn’t been for me you’d be free.”
“Tha’s all right; it was a mistake, June. It’s all in the game. I reckon I’d forgive you for anythin’. Good-by.”
He raised up from his haunches, grasped the door with his left hand and gave it a jerk. It stuck fast. He dropped the gun in his holster and grasped the door with both hands but it refused to open.
“Stay here, June,” he panted, dropping to his knees and crawled back to the front door.
The room was full of smoke now.
He went to the door, got to his feet and tried to open it. He could force it open about two inches—enough to see that a rope ran from the knob to a porch-post.
A bullet smashed through the paneling and raked him along the forearm. He dropped to his knees, coughing from the smoke, and crawled back to June. His left forearm and hand were covered with blood.
“They’ve locked us in, June,” he said. “If we try to get through a window they’ll riddle us.”
June merely stared at him, her mind refusing to work.