Alexander looked around with nervous eyes. His faith already on unsteady ground, it didn’t take much convincing to get him away from the saloon. “They won’t let us go,” he said; but he was ready to run.

“Yeah,” Cadman admitted. He thought for a moment. “There’s a trap door behind the bar I’ll bet,” he said. “They gotta keep the liquor somewhere.”

“The front door’s the only other chance.” Alexander’s eyes darted through the crowd.

Paul, fired up now, worked the crowd into a furor. They called back his shouts, and the place began to roar.

Cadman hopped the bar like before, but nobody seemed to notice. In the better light he could make out the markings on the floor. It didn’t take him long to discover the outlines of a square door. Thankfully, there’d been no effort on the bar owner’s part to hide the passageway. Cadman nodded his discovery to Alexander, whose mustache twitched in nervous relief.

Lifting the door, Cadman peered into the dark storage space below. He took a candle from the bar and went down. The space was black as pitch and no taller than five feet; barrels littered the way. The candlelight helped him find his footing, but little else. Hunched over, Cadman felt his way to the cold wall.

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