The sight of Owen enraged Sanderson, but his curiosity drove him to the
window.
The little man was hanging to the iron bars; his neck muscles were
straining, his face was red and his eyes bright.
"Don't talk, now!" he warned. "The boss of the dump is awake and he'll
hear. He's in his room; there's nobody else around. I wanted to tell
you that I'm going to knock him silly and get you out of this!"
"Why?" mocked Sanderson, lowly.
Owen's face grew redder. "Oh, I know I've got something coming, but
I'm going to get you out all the same. I've got our horses and guns.
Be ready!"
He slipped down. Sanderson could hear his feet thud faintly on the
sand outside.
Sanderson got into his clothes and stood at the cell door, waiting.
For a long time he heard no sound, but presently he caught the clank of
a door, followed by a swift step, and Owen stood in the corridor before
the cell door, a bunch of keys in his hand.
There was no word spoken. Owen unlocked the door, Sanderson slipped
out, Owen passed him the six-shooter he had lost in the barroom of the
Okar Hotel, and the two slipped noiselessly down the corridor.
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