The two thieves, hidden in the basement, could hear the sheriff and his men just outside the shack. Orders being given, a perimeter formed, lines made.
They waited, pistols drawn, waiting for them to kick down the door, or order them to come out.
Instead, they heard gunshots, hundreds of them, and lots of shouting, until eventually, silence.
The sheriff crawled into the shack, blood oozing from several wounds, but a native came in, slit his throat, and left.
The thieves were safe.
Or would have been, if they hadn't shot each other to save themselves from dying slow like.
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