When he did jump he might have been directly over a
picket fence, or a bottomless pit--he did not know. Nor did
he care.
As it happened he was over neither. The platform chanced
to be passing across a culvert at the instant. Beneath the
culvert was a slimy pool. Into this the two men plunged,
alighting unharmed.
Byrne was the first to regain his feet. He dragged the deputy
sheriff to his knees, and before that frightened and astonished
officer of the law could gather his wits together he had been
relieved of his revolver and found himself looking into its cold
and business-like muzzle.
Then Billy Byrne waded ashore, prodding the deputy sheriff
in the ribs with cold steel, and warning him to silence. Above
the pool stood a little wood, thick with tangled wildwood.
Into this Byrne forced his prisoner.
When they had come deep enough into the concealment of
the foliage to make discovery from the outside improbable
Byrne halted.
"Now say yer prayers," he commanded. "I'm a-going to
croak yeh."
The deputy sheriff looked up at him in wild-eyed terror.
"My God!" he cried. "I ain't done nothin' to you, Byrne.
Haven't I always been your friend? What've I ever done to
you? For God's sake Byrne you ain't goin' to murder me, are
you? They'll get you, sure.
Pages:
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289