Flatray tapped softly on a pane. Instantly the head of the bound man slewed round.
“Friend?”
The prisoner asked it ever so gently, but the sheriff heard.
“Yes.”
“The top part of the window is open. You can crawl over, I reckon.”
Jack climbed on the sill and from it through the window. Almost before he reached the floor his knife was out and he was slashing at the ropes.
“Better put the light out, pardner,” suggested the 281 man he was freeing, and the officer noticed that there was no tremor in the cool, steady voice.
“That’s right. We’d make a fine mark through the window.”
And the light went out.
“I’m Bucky O’Connor. Who are you?”