CHAPTER IV
ON THE TRAIL
AS THEY entered the place Billy, who was ahead, sought a
table; but as he was about to hang up his cap and seat
himself Bridge touched his elbow.
"Let's go to the washroom and clean up a bit," he said, in
a voice that might be heard by those nearest.
"Why, we just washed before we left our room," expostulated Billy.
"Shut up and follow me," Bridge whispered into his ear.
Immediately Billy was all suspicion. His hand flew to the
pocket in which the gun of the deputy sheriff still rested. They
would never take him alive, of that Billy was positive. He
wouldn't go back to life imprisonment, not after he had tasted
the sweet freedom of the wide spaces--such a freedom as the
trammeled city cannot offer.
Bridge saw the movement.
"Cut it," he whispered, "and follow me, as I tell you. I just
saw a Chicago dick across the street. He may not have seen
you, but it looked almighty like it. He'll be down here in
about two seconds now. Come on--we'll beat it through the
rear--I know the way."
Billy Byrne heaved a great sigh of relief. Suddenly he was
almost reconciled to the thought of capture, for in the instant
he had realized that it had not been so much his freedom that
he had dreaded to lose as his faith in the companion in whom he
had believed.
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