"I thought it was the marshal from Waco," he said. "He'll never
git me alive."
Stover addressed himself to Fresno, who had gone pale, and was
still prostrate where he had fallen.
"Get up, Mr. Berkeley, but don't make no more moves like that
behind a man's back. He most got you."
Fresno arose in a daze and mopped his brow, murmuring, weakly,
"I-I didn't mean to."
Carara and Mr. Cloudy came out from cover whither they had fled
at Willie's first movement. "I dreamed about that feller agin
last night," apologized the little man. "I'm sort of nervous, and
any sudden noise sets me off."
As for Glass, that corpulent individual had disappeared as if
into thin air; only a stir in one of the bunks betrayed his
hiding-place. At the first sight of Willie's revolver he had
dived for a refuge and was now flattened against the wall, a
pillow pressed over his head to deaden the expected report.
"Hey!" called the foreman, but Glass did not hear him.
"Seems to be gun-shy," observed Willie, gently.
Stover crossed to the bunk and laid a hand upon the occupant, at
which a convulsion ran through the trainer's soft body, and it
became as rigid as if locked in death.
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