IT was almost an hour later when he heard the iron crossbar on the door squeak against the bolt heads as it was lifted. By the time the door swung back he was sitting in the farthest corner from the hole he had been digging, with his hat pulled down over his eyes as though dozing.
It was the scarred lieutenant. He peered into the dimness of the hut, blinking. Poco Kelly tipped his hat up from his eyes and yawned.
“What the hell do you want?” He inquired crossly. “Don’t you ever give your guests any privacy around here?”
The man held a heavy automatic in his hand. He gestured with it commandingly and grunted at Kelly.
Poco was a little white around the lips, but he got up casually and sauntered toward the door. The scarred man caught him by the arm and dragged him out into the open. The
