“Bart!” The voice was soft, but Bart still heard it. Jesus, what was George doing outside the jail?
He climbed on the top bunk and peered through the bars. George was seated on Salida this time, wearing one of those fancy dresses Bart had complained about because the bustle didn’t let him get a grip on Georgie’s rump.
“What are you doing here? I told you to go!”
“And leave you to hang for something you didn’t do? No way in hell. Till death do us part, remember?”
“I don’t want you to die!”
“I don’t want you dying either. Get ready to make a move.”
“What are you—Get out of here, the sheriff is coming.” He sprawled across the bunk and propped a hand under his chin, hoping he didn’t look nervous.
Then he realized it wouldn’t matter. If they were supposed to die in a matter of hours, of
