morrow night, we'll get busy and drive 'em all out right now."
"What about these kids?"
"Leave 'em here."
"They'll starve," said one man dubiously.
"What of that?" demanded Gus Montrose. "They'd have had us all landed in jail if they could."
"Well—I don't hold—"
"They brought it on themselves. Who'll ever find 'em here, anyway?"
"I'd rather take 'em out to the railway and dump 'em into an empty box car. They might be five hundred miles away before anybody found 'em. That would give us plenty of time to scatter."
Murmurs of approval from the other men greeted this plan.
"Do as you like," growled Montrose. "I figger we ought to clear out and leave 'em here."
Suddenly the big lamp, which one of the gang was holding, dimmed and went out.
"What's the matter now? Turn on that light, Joe."
"It's gone out."
"D'you think we're blind? Of course it's out. Turn it on."
"The lamp’s gone dead, I think. There's somethin' wrong with it. It won't light
