"Would Tilton dare to attack me here in the city? Isn't there any law in St. Louis? Or can the friends of the A. F. C. do just as they want to?" demanded Lander, beginning to grow wrathy at the prospects of enforced flight.
"Oh, Tilton isn't anybody's fool," assured Bridger. "He won't appear in what happens in St. Louis. But there's a choice collection of murderers an' robbers hanging around his saloon who'll do any dirty work for a prime beaverskin. If they slip up on the job Tilton won't be dragged in. He'll just send out another gang after you."
They parted, Bridger going to procure a mule for the fugitive, the latter and Papa Clair hurrying to the Market Street room. Here Lander wrote a long letter, explaining his plight and vowing his undying love, and pleading for Miss Susette to wait for him. While he wrote Papa Clair laid out his rifle and trappings. With a long-drawn sigh Lander finished, sanded and sealed the missive and handed it to Papa Clair, and was asking his friend how he proposed to deliver it unsuspected by Hurry-Up Parker, when the old man stuffed the letter inside his coat, clutched Lander by the arm and with his free hand extinguished the light.
