His jaw dropped; his face went red to the hair; his lip trembled as he pointed to the larger of the two roommates, who was, beyond doubting, Amos Poole--or some remainder of him.
"How did that man get here ?" demanded the sheriff in a cracked and horrified voice.
"Him?
Oh, I throwed him in there!" said Pete lightly.

"That's the man who brought me the keys and pestered me to go away with him.

Say, sheriff, better watch out! He told me he had a gun, and that he had the jailer tied and gagged." "The damned skunk didn't have no gun! All he had was a flashlight, and I broke that over his head.

But he tole me the same story about the jailer--all except the gun." This testimony was volunteered by Poole's cellmate.
Peter removed his cigar and looked at the "damned skunk" more closely.
"Why, if it ain't Mr.Poole!" he said.
"Sure, it's Poole.

What in hell does he mean, then--swearin' you into jail and then breakin' you out ?" "Hadn't you better ask him ?" said Peter, very reasonably.