CHAPTER VIII--BY WAYS THAT WERE DARK
Looking back I marvel at the ridiculous ease with which the thing wasaccomplished. Still more do I marvel at my own part in it. Brought up asI had been, shielded from the ill winds of existence, taught theperfunctory, conventional standards of behavior that suffice for thosewhose lives are lived according to a little-varying plan, I should haveshrunk from further infraction of the law. Indeed it is no more thancould have been expected had I refused absolutely to lend myself toBarreau's desperate plan. Conscious that I had done no wrong I mighthave been moved to veto an enterprise that imperiled me, to protestagainst his drawing me further into his own troublous coil. But I didnothing of the sort. It did not occur to me. My point of view was nolonger that of the son of a St. Louis gentleman. And the transition wasso complete, so radical, and withal, so much the growth of the pastthree weeks, that I was unaware of the change.
I know of no clearer illustration of the power of environment.Indubitably I should have looked askance at a man who tacitly admittedhimself more or less of a criminal, making no defense, no denial. Thetraditions of my class should have kept me aloof, conscious of my ownclean hands. This, I repeat, was what might have been expected of me:Put to me as an abstract proposition, I would have been very positive ofwhere I should stand.
But without being conscious of any deviation from my previous conceptsof right and wrong, I found myself all agog to help Slowfoot Georgeescape. For myself, there was no question of flight. That, we agreedupon, at the outset. I could gain nothing by putting myself at odds withCanadian law, for the law itself would free me in its meteing out ofjustice. But with him it was different; he admitted the fact. And evenso I found myself making nothing of the admission. He conformed to noneof my vague ideas of the criminal type. In aiding him to be free Iseemed to be freeing myself by proxy, as it were; and how badly Idesired to be quit of the strange tangle that enmeshed me, none butmyself can quite appreciate.
After all, so far as my help was concerned it consisted largely of whatBarreau dryly termed, "moral support." I acquiesced in the necessity. Istood on the lookout for interruptions. He did the work.
While he cut with his knife a hole in the floor, so that the point ofthe little saw could enter, I stood by the window listening for thefootsteps that would herald a guard's approach. He worked rapidly, yetin no apparent haste. He had that faculty of straining every nerve atwhat he was about, without seeming to do so; there was no waste energy,no fluster. And the cutting and sawing speedily bore fruit. Sonoiselessly and deftly did he work that in less than half an hour he hadsawn a hole in the floor large enough to admit his body; and the danksmell of earth long hidden from sunlight struck me when I bent down tolook. Then with a caution that I should watch closely and tap on thefloor with my heel if any of the guard came poking around the cells, hewriggled through the opening and disappeared.
I leaned against the wall, breathing a bit faster. The hole was cut in acorner, to the right of the cell door. From the outside it couldscarcely be noticed. But I had wit enough to know that if a trooperglanced in and missed Barreau the hole would be discovered fast enough.Which would involve me in the attempt; and I was aware thatjail-breakers fare ill if they are caught. But no one moved in theguardhouse, save now and then a prisoner shuffling about in his cell.Occasionally I could hear the low murmur of their voices--it was a smallplace and filled to its capacity--else Barreau and I would not have beenpenned together.
After an interminable period he came quietly out from under the floor,and carefully fitted in their places the planks he had cut. One had tolook closely to see a mark, after he had brushed into the cracks somedust from the floor. Barreau's eyes twinkled when he sat down on hisbunk and rolled himself a cigarette.
"Everything just as it should be," he told me. "Nothing to do but rootaway a little dirt from the bottom log of the outside wall. I could walkout, a free man, in five minutes. There will be a fine fuss and feathersto-night. They have never had a jail delivery here, you know. Lord, it'seasy though, when one has the tools."
"There'll be a hot chase," I suggested. "Will you stand much chance."
"That depends on how much of a start I get," he said grimly. "I think Ican fool them. If not--well----"
He relapsed into silence. Someone clanked into the guard-room, andBarreau snuffed out his cigarette with one swift movement. In a secondor two the trooper went out again. We could see him by flattening ourfaces against the bars, and when he was gone Blackie sat alone, his feetcocked up on a chair.
"That reminds me," Barreau spoke so that his words were audible to mealone. "Blackie's a good fellow, and I must keep his skirts clear. Hewill be on guard till about eight this evening. Eight--nine--teno'clock. At ten it should be as dark as it will get. I'll drift then.Some other fellow will be on guard when you give the alarm."
It was then mid-afternoon. At half-past five two prisoners were set toarranging a long table by the palings that separated the cells from theguard-room proper. With a trooper at their heels they lugged from thePolice kitchen two great pots, one of weak soup, the other containing aliquid that passed for tea. A platter of sliced bread and another ofmeat scraps completed the meal. Then the rest of us were turned out toeat; sixteen men who had fallen afoul of the law munching and drinking,with furtive glances at each other.
And while we ate a trooper made the round of the cells, giving eachtumbled heap of quilts a tentative shake, peering into the half-darkcorners. That also was part of the routine, perfunctory, as a generalthing, but occasionally developing into keen-eyed search. It was therule to confiscate tobacco or any small articles a prisoner might manageto smuggle in, if he failed of its concealment.
But the faint traces of Barreau's floor-cutting escaped his eye, and thetobacco was in our pockets. The knife and saw Barreau had slipped withinhis boot-leg. Personal search was the one thing we had to fear. And itpassed us by. The guards--four of them during the meal hour--contentedthemselves with routine inspection, and when the table was swept cleanof food we were herded back to our cells. For once I was glad to belocked up; knowing that though dark would bring a trooper past our cellevery half hour, to peer in on us through the barred opening, there waslittle chance of his unlocking the door.
We lay on our bunks, silent, smoking a cigarette when the guard was safein front. The smell of tobacco smoke could not betray our possession ofit, for the guardhouse reeked with the troopers' pipes. We had only toconceal the actual material.
Thus eight o'clock came, and brought with it a change of guard. Blackieno longer sat in front with his feet cocked up on a chair, or takingturns with his fellows at peering through cell doors. Nine passed--bythe guardhouse clock--and ten dragged by at last. On the stroke of thehour a guard tramped past our cell, on to the others, and back to hisseat in front. When he was settled Barreau slid lightly from his bunk.The short pieces of flooring he pried from the hole in the floor. Thenhe reached a hand to me and shook mine in a grip that almost bruised.
"Good-bye, Bob," he whispered. "I'll meet you in St. Louis next year,unless my star sets. And I will have a pretty story for your ears, then.Give me an hour, if you can. So-long."
His feet were in the opening as he spoke, and a second later the blacksquare of it was yawning emptily. I put the planks over the hole, andgot me back to my bunk. I was glad to see him go, and yet, knowing thathe would come back no more save in irons, I missed him. I felt utterlyalone and forsaken, lying there simulating sleep--with every nerve in mybody on tip-toe.
It was a rule of the guardhouse that a prisoner must lie with his feetto the door, so that his head could be seen by the passing guard. Justopposite our door a lamp was bracketed on the wall. What light it gaveshone through the bars directly on our faces while we slept. Rules or norules, a man would shade his face with his arm or a corner of the quilt,when the lamp-glare struck in his eyes. And Barreau, perhaps with thatvery emergency in mind, had slept with his hat pulled over his face.None of the guards had voiced objection. T
hey could see him easilyenough. Now, this very practice made it possible for him to fool themwith a trick that is as old as prison-breaking itself. Skillfully he hadarranged the covers to give the outline of a body, and his hat he lefttilted over the place where his head had rested. The simplicity of thething, I dare say, is what made it a success. At least it fulfilled itspurpose that night.
Here a prisoner snored, and there another turned on his bunk with faintscrapings against the wall. Out in front the Policemen conversed inlowered tones. I could hear every sound in the building, it seemed; themovements of sleeping men, the scurrying of a rat, the crackle of amatch when one of the guards lit his pipe. But I did not hear that forwhich my ears were strained, and I was thankful.
Twice a trooper made the round, seeing nothing amiss--although Iimagined the thump of my heart echoed into the corridor when he lookedin on me and let his glance travel over the place where Slowfoot Georgeshould have been--but was not.
It was nearing the time for his return, and I sat up, nerving myself togive the alarm. For to clear me of complicity and the penalty thereof,Barreau had instructed me to apprise them after an hour. I was to tellthem that he was armed, and so compelled me to keep silent while heworked. And I was to say that he had but gone. There would be nothingbut his foot-prints, and by those they could not reckon the time of hisflight.
As I sat there waiting for the guard and steeling myself to lie boldly,shamelessly, for Barreau's sake and my own, my gaze rested speculativelyon the pieces of flooring I had laid over the hole. I intended to kickthem aside as I rushed to the window and gabbled my tale to the guard.But I did not rush to the window nor did I gabble to the guard, for Isaw the pieces of plank slide softly apart and a hand came through theopening thus made--a hand that waved imperative warning for me to liedown. The guard passed as I drew the cover over me. He barely glancedin. Before the squeak of his chair out in front told of his settlingdown, I was up on elbow, staring.
Again the planks slid apart, this time clear of the hole. In the samemoment something took shape in the black square, something that rosequickly till I could see that it was the head and shoulders of a man. Isat mute, startled, filled with wonder and some dismay. The dull lighttouching his features showed me Barreau, dirt-stained, sweatdrops on hisforehead, beckoning to me. I leaned to catch his whisper.
"I came back for you, kid," he breathed. "You're slated for trouble. Thecabin of the _Moon's_ purser was robbed the night you left, and it'slaid to you. There's a deputy from Benton here after you. You'll get ahard deal. Better chance it with me."
"Robbery," I muttered. "Good God, what next?"
"Extradition--and a hard fight to clear yourself. Weeks, maybe months,in the calaboose. Come on with me. You'll get home sooner, I'll promiseyou that."
"I've a mind to go you," I declared bitterly. "I seem doomed to be anIshmael."
"Hurry, then," he admonished, "or we'll be nabbed in the act. Slip inhere quietly and crawl after me. Just as you are. Bring your shoes inyour hand."
Thus, willy-nilly, I found myself in the black, dank space between thefloor and the ground. The blackness and musty smell endured no more thana few seconds. The passage to the outer wall was shorter than I hadthought. Presently I followed Barreau through a tight hole, and stooderect in the gloom of a cloudy night--a night well fitted for desperatedeeds.
"Give me your hand," said Barreau, when I had put on my brogans.
The dark might have been made to order for our purpose. I could barelysee Barreau at my elbow. His hand was a needed aid. Together we movedsoftly away from the guardhouse, and, once clear of it, ran like huntedthings. Looking back over my shoulder once, I saw the guardhouse lights,pale yellow squares set in solid ebony. The rest of the post layunlighted, hidden away in the dark.
I do not know whither Barreau led me, but at length, almost winded fromthe long run, he brought up against some sort of deserted building. Avague blur resolved into two horses, when we laid hands upon it. Barreaujerked loose the fastening ropes. And as my fingers closed on the reinsof one, a carbine popped away in our rear, then another, and a third.Hard on that came the shrilling of a bugle.
"Up with you," Barreau commanded. "They've found our hole. Stick closeto me. If they do run us down, we must take our medicine; we cannotfight the men in red with such odds against us. But I think they'll looklong and sorrowfully ere they come upon us, a night like this," hefinished with a short laugh.
Side by side, two dim figures in the murk, we loped away. Barreau kept asteady unhurried gait. We passed a building or two, dipped into ahollow, splashed through what may have been a river or a pond, for all Icould tell, and presently came out upon level plain. Behind us MacLeod'sfew lights twinkled like the scattered embers of a campfire. Soon thesealso dwindled to nothing, and the shadowless gloom of the prairiessurrounded us. Keenly as I listened, I caught no sound of followinghoofs. And Barreau seemed to think himself tolerably safe, for he beganto talk in his natural tone as we galloped into the night.
"If the Police overhaul us now," he asserted confidently, "it will beonly because of a lucky guess at the direction we have taken. They aremore than likely to think we have gone south. And if they don't beat usto the Red Flats we can snap our fingers at them for many a moon. Areyou itching with curiosity, Bob?"
"Not altogether itching," I replied truthfully enough. "I'm too glad tobe out of that iron-barred box, to be worrying much over the why ofthings. Just so the program doesn't call for another spell in someguardhouse, I'll be satisfied. I'm putting a good deal of faith in whatyou said about eventually getting to St. Louis."
"Cultivating the philosophical attitude already, eh?" he returned."You're progressing. To be perfectly frank, there is little chance ofour seeing either the inside or outside of a guardhouse again. Theredcoats fight shy of the country we are bound for."
"Where is that?" I asked quickly.
"I knew you were wondering," he laughed. "Unconsciously you arebristling with question marks. Natural enough, too. But all in goodtime, Bob. To-night we have food and clothing, another horse or two andarms to get. If previous calculations haven't been upset, these thingswill be forthcoming and we shall go on our way--if not rejoicing, atleast well-provided against the wilderness. And then if you still chooseto paddle in my canoe, I'll go into details."
"That's fair enough," I answered. "There's just one thing--that _Moon_robbery business. How came you to know a deputy sheriff was after me?"
"Simply enough," he returned. "When I got out I had to sneak around andfind a man from whom I could get a horse--I have a friend or two there,luckily. And he told me. The Circle men gave you away when they weretold you had stolen money from the boat. The deputy had just ridden in.He was a mouthy brute, and noised his business about."
"It beats the devil," I declared. "Ever since those two thugs tackled meon the St. Louis water front I seem to have been going from bad toworse; stepping from one hot stone to another still hotter."
"I've done it myself," he said laconically. "But they will have to catchtheir hare before they can cook it; and it takes more than accusation tomake a man a thief."
With this he relapsed into silence. There was a sort of finality in hisway of speaking that headed me off from asking more questions. I busiedmyself digesting what he had told me. Occasionally, as we rode, hedrawled a remark; a few words about the country we traversed, or ourmounts, or a bull-train he hoped to overtake. Between whiles Ispeculated on what mysterious link connected him with the girl who hadcome to the guardhouse in MacLeod. The rancor of her speech had fixeditself irrevocably on my memory. What lay behind their bitter stabbingat each other I could not say. Nor was it anything that should haveconcerned me. I had my own besetments. I knew not whither I was going,nor why--except to escape trial for a crime I had not committed. Therewere many points upon which I desired light, things that puzzled me. Allin all, as I put aside the disturbing influences of flight I did, asBarreau had said, fairly bristle with interrogations.
Once in the night we halted on a small creek for the best part of anhour, letting our horses graze. Only then did I become aware thatBarreau rode without a saddle.
"No man ever quitted a Mounted Police guardhouse without help from theoutside," he replied, when I spoke of this. "And the man who took achance on letting me have two horses had only one saddle to spare. I canride easier on a blanket than you. It is only for another hour or two atmost. See--we are just come to the trail."
I could distinguish no trail at first. He followed it easily, and aftera time I began to get glimpses of deep-worn ruts. Barreau struck afaster pace. Two hours of silent riding brought us into the bed of afair-sized creek, and when he had turned a bend or two of its course, alight blinked ahead. In another minute we brought up against a group ofwagons. Barreau rode straight to the tent, through the canvas walls ofwhich glowed the light. There he dismounted and tied his horse,whispering to me to follow suit. Then I followed him into the tent.
A man lay stretched on a camp-cot at one end, the blankets drawn overhis head. Him Barreau shook rudely out of his slumber, and when he satup with a growl of protest I found myself face to face with Montell, theportly fur merchant who had come up-river on the _Moon_.
The Land of Frozen Suns: A Novel Page 8
