But, when the big key was fitted into the lock and the lock
turned, he showed his first signs of interest. He was standing up when
Bull opened the door and strode in.
"Have you got your things?" said Bull curtly.
"What things, big fellow?"
"Why, guns and things--and your hat, of course."
Pete Reeve walked to the corner of the cell and took a sombrero off
the wall. "Here's that hat," he answered, "but they ain't passing out
guns to jailbirds--not in these parts!"
"You ain't a jailbird," answered Bull, "so we'll get that gun. Know
where it is?"
Reeve followed without a question through the open door, only stopping
as he passed beyond the bars, to look back to them with a shudder. It
was the first sign of emotion he had shown since his arrest. But his
step was lighter and quicker as he followed Bull into the front room.
"In that closet, yonder," said Reeve, pointing to a door. "That's
where they keep the guns."
Bull shook out his bundle of keys into the great palm of his hand.
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