But it was only a moment. Curly had turned away, effacing himself. Presently he started, and cast about him that habitual backward glance; he had heard a step. It was Koerner. The old man in his shirt-sleeves, swinging heavily between his crutches, paused in the doorway, and then seeing his boy, his face softened, and, balanced on his crutches, he held out his arms and Archie strode toward him. Curly waited another moment like the first, taking the chances, almost cynically wondering how far he could brave this fate. It was still in the little room. The words were few. The moment brought memories to him as well,--but he could endure it no longer; the risk was enormous already; they were losing time. For, just as they had entered the house, in that habitual glance over the shoulder, Curly had seen the figure in the dark doorway across the street--and he knew. "Come on, Archie," he said. Archie turned in surprise. "It’s all off," Curly said. "We’re dogged." "Why?" "The bulls--" "Where?" "Across the street--an elbow." "Him?" "Yes." "The hell!" Curly glanced toward the back room. But Archie suddenly grew stubborn. "No," he said. "Let’s stick and slug." "Don’t be a chump," said Curly. "We’re heeled." "Well, they’d settle you in a minute." "They can’t. We can bust the bulls." "All right," said Curly. "Be the wise guy if you want to. I’ll take it on the lam for mine; they ain’t going to bury me. Can I get out that way?" He brushed past them in the doorway, and called from the kitchen: "Besides, you’ve got orders." Then Archie remembered; he looked at his mother, at his father, glanced about the little room, barren in the poverty that had entered the home, hesitated, then turned and left them standing there. As he passed through the kitchen he heard little Katie and little Jake breathing in their sleep, and the sound tore his heart. He was over the fence and in the alley just behind Curly. They ran for a block, darted across a lighted street, then into the black alley again. For several blocks they dashed along, getting on as fast as they could. Then at length Archie, soft from his imprisonment, stopped in the utter abandon of physical exhaustion and stood leaning against a barn. "God!" he said, "I hain’t going another step! I’m all in!" Curly had been leading the way in the tireless energy of the health his out-of-door life gave him, but when Archie stopped, he paused and stood attent, inclining his head and listening. The night, almost half gone, was still; sounds that in the daytime and in the earlier evening had been lost in the roar of the city became distinct, trolley-cars sweeping along some distant street, the long and lonesome whistles of railroad engines, now and then the ringing of a bell; close by, the nocturnal movements of animals in the barns that staggered grotesquely along the alley. "It’s all right," said Curly; "we’ve made a getaway." He relaxed and slouched over to where Archie stood.