"If they was only a bit more light," muttered the sheriff. "My God, Vic,
why ain't the moon jest a mite nearer the full!"
After that, not a word for a long time until the lights in the house were
suddenly extinguished,
"So they won't show up agin no background when they make their run,"
murmured the sheriff. He pushed up his hat brim so that it covered his eyes
more perfectly. "Boys, get ready. They're comin' now!"
Mat Henshaw took up the word, and repeated it, and the whisper ran down
the line of men who lay irregularly among the rocks, until at last Sliver
Waldron brought it to a stop with a deep murmur. Not even a whisper could
altogether disguise his booming bass. It seemed to Vic Gregg that the air
about him grew more tense; his arm muscles commenced to ache from the
gripping of his hands. Then a door creaked--they could tell the indubitable
sound as if there were a light to see it swing cautiously wide.
"They're goin' out the back way," interpreted the sheriff, "but they'll
come around in front. They ain't any other way they can get out of here.
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