The door in the far end of the car slammed. Brevoort turned to Pete.
"Look straight ahead and--listen. That paper you saw was a telegraph
from the agent at Sanborn sayin' a man had been found shot, and to
watch out for two cow-punchers that bought tickets for El Paso--which
is us. That's how we came to stop at the junction back there, which
ain't a regular stop. It means there'll be a marshal waitin' for us at
El Paso."
"Then let's git off this doggone thing," suggested Pete.
"She stops onct before we git in," said Brevoort. "It's gittin'
dark--and we got one chanct. When she slows down, we go into the
baggage-car there and tell the boss we're lookin' for our war-bag,
which we didn't have. Jest about the time she stops, we drop off. The
side door's open."
"We'll be plumb afoot," said Pete.
"Yes. And we'll have to hole up somewhere till we git some
store-clothes--and change our looks--and mebby our luck, which is
runnin' bad right now."
"Do we split up when we hit town?" queried Pete.
"We got to: and you want to git rid of that there cash just as quick as
you kin.
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