Pete emptied the pitcher and stowed
the wet sacks of gold in his saddle-pockets.
"Told you everything was all right," said Brevoort, turning to watch
Pete as he placed the saddlebags at the head of the bed.
"All right, so far," concurred Pete.
"Say, pardner, you losin' your nerve? You act so dam' serious. Hell,
we ain't dead yet!"
"No, I ain't losin' my nerve. But I'm tellin' you I been plumb scared
ever since I seen that picture. I don't feel right, Ed."
"I ain't feelin' so happy myself," muttered Brevoort, turning toward
the window.
Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort's face was
tense and unnatural. Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out of
the window and turned to Pete. "I been thinkin' it out," he began
slowly. "That hunch of yours kind of got me goin'. The best thing we
kin do is to get out of this town quick. We got to split--no way round
that. We're all right so far, but by to-morrow they'll be watchin'
every train and every hotel, and doggin' every stranger to see what
he's doin'. What you want to do is to take them sacks, wrap 'em up in
paper, put ole E.
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