Señor, you cannot be
here . . . we put you in the grave!
BACK FROM THE DEAD
The caboose had rolled right on by, with the guard hanging out the door and shaking his fist at them.
“That sonuva’s gonna tell the sheriff when the train pulls into the sidin’,” Fitch said with a sour look on his dusty, stubbled face as he slapped down his worn clothes.
Boone staggered upright and began doing the same thing, then squinted after the train.
“We’ll be there before the train pulls in. That’s why I wanted to get off here. We can cut across country. That old train has to cross the bridge and go on down the range before it rolls in. We’ll be in the saloon and bumming our first drink by that time.”
“Yeah,” Fitch grinned. “What the hell? If the sheriff throws us in jail, at least we’ll have somewhere to sleep and three square meals a day.”