“I’d fight the whole town,” said the sheriff smoothly, “but I don’t need you with me.  You’re through, partner.  Close the door soft when you go out!”

Pat made no argument, offered no sentimental protest of devotion.  He was glad of any excuse, and he retreated at once.  After him went the sheriff, and Sinclair heard the heavy door of the jail locked.  Kern came back, carrying a bundle.  Outside, the murmuring had increased at a single leap to a roar.  The rush for the jail was beginning.

Arizona shrank back against the wall, his little eyes glaring desperately at Sinclair, his last hope in the emergency.  But Sinclair looked to the sheriff.  The bundle in the arms of the latter unrolled and showed two cartridge belts, with guns appended.  Next, still in silence, the sheriff unlocked the door to the cell.

“Sinclair!”

The tall cowpuncher leaped beside him.  Arizona skirted away to one side stealthily.

“None of that!” commanded Kern.  “No crooked work, Arizona.  I’m giving you a fighting chance for your lives.”

Here he tossed a gun and belt to Sinclair.  The latter without a word buckled it on.

“Now, quick work, boys,” said the sheriff.  “It’s going to be the second time in my life that prisoners have got away and tied me up.  Understand?  They ain’t going to be no massacre if I can help it.  Gents like Sinclair don’t come in pairs, and he’s going to have a fighting chance.  Boys, tie me up fast and throw me in the corner.  I’ll tell ’em that you slugged me through the bars and got the keys away.  You hear?”

As he spoke he threw Arizona a gun and belt, and the latter imitated Sinclair in buckling it on.  But the fat man then made for the door of the cell.  Outside the rush reached the entrance to the jail and split on it.  The voices leaped into a tumult.

“By thunder,” demanded Arizona, “are you going to wait for that?”

“You want Kern to get into trouble?” asked Sinclair.  “Grab this end and tie his ankles, while I fix his hands.”

Frantically they worked together.

“Are you comfortable, sheriff?”

He lay securely trussed in a corner of the passageway.

“Dead easy, boys.  Now what’s your plan?”

“Is there a back way out?”

“No way in or out but the front door.  You got to wait till they smash it.  There they start now!  Then dive out, as they rush.  They won’t be expecting nothing like that.  But gag me first.”

Hastily Sinclair obeyed.  The door of the jail was shaking and groaning under the attack from without, and the shouts were a steady roar.  Then he hurried to the front of the little building.  Arizona was already there, gun in hand, watching the door bulge under the impact.  Evidently they had caught up a heavy timber, and a dozen men were pounding it against the massive door.  Sinclair caught the gun arm of his companion.

“Fatty,” he said hastily, “gunplay will spoil everything.  We got to take ’em by surprise.  Fast running will save us, maybe.  Fast shooting ain’t any good when it’s one man agin’ fifty, and these boys mean business.”