split up as soon as we got clear of town."

"You're a damn liar!"

"That's what the sheriff said. Somebody must 'a' give me away,"
complained John Wesley. He rolled a cigarette and walked to the table.
"All the same, you're making a mistake. You hadn't ought to roil me.
Just for that, soon as they're all off on their man hunt, I'm goin' to
study up some scheme to get away."

"I got a picture of you gettin' away!"

"George," said John Wesley, "you see that front door? Well, that's
what we call in theatrical circles a practical door. Along toward
morning I'm going out through that practical door. You'll see!"

He raised the lamp, held the cigarette over the chimney top and puffed
till he got a light; so doing he smoked the chimney. To inspect the
damage he raised the lamp higher. Swifter than thought he hurled it at
his warder's head. The blazing lamp struck Applegate between the eyes.
Pringle's fist flashed up and smote him grievously under the jaw;
he fell crashing; the half-drawn gun clattered from his slackened
fingers. Pringle caught it up and plunged into the dark through the
practical door.

He ran down the adobe wall of the water pen; a bullet whizzed by; he
turned the corner; he whisked over the wall, back into the water pen.
Shouts, curses, the sound of rushing feet without the wall. Pringle
crouched in the deep shadow of the wall, groped his way to the long
row of watering troughs, and wormed himself under the upper trough,