"Look for a door--any place to get out," whispered Hough to
Ancliffe, as they came to the opposite side of this square space.
Hough, with Allie close at his heels, went to the right while
Ancliffe went to the left. Hough went so far, then muttering, drew
Allie back again to the point whence they had started. Ancliffe was
there.
"No place! All boarded up tight," he whispered.
"Same on this side. We'll have to--"
"Listen!" exclaimed Ancliffe, holding up his hand.
There appeared to be noise all around, but mostly on the other side
of the looming canvas house, behind which was the alleyway that led
to Durade's hall. Gleams of light flashed through the gloom.
Durade's high, quick voice mingled with hoarser and deeper tones.
Some one in the canvas house was talking to Durade, who apparently
must have been in Allie's room and at her window.
"See hyar, Greaser, we ain't harborin' any of your outfit, an' we'll
plug the fust gent we see," called a surly voice.
Durade's staccato tones succeeded it. "Did you see them?"
"We heerd them gettin' out the winder."
Durade's voice rose high in Spanish curses. Then he called:
"Fresno--Mull--take men--go around the street. They can't get away
... You, Mex, get down in there with the gang."
Lower voices answered, questioning, eager, but indistinct.
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