The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 101: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GETTING AWAY FROM THOMPSON. morning like a distant trumpet, a rooster crowed expressively. A shock ran through Mr. Farnham! There were gaps in Crage’s tale, but they would have to be filled later and— “Cut it short, friend—we appreciate what you’ve done for us just as much,” he said swiftly. “It'll be daylight in another hour or less, and we’ve got to get out of this! We’ve gas enough—”’ “T wouldn’t start the car and risk wak- ing them, boss,” the helpful chauffeur said, as he headed for the door. ‘I was thinking about that when I came up. This here evening train from Montreal comes through here around three o’clock and she’ll stop on signal. I was going out on her.” “You—can’t ride to New York on one dime!” Mr. Farnham gasped. “That’s all we have until—” Out of the gloom came the scrape of the key and an even more welcome sound. “Forget it, boss!” the glorious Cragg whispered. roe!” Through the Batesford jail wafted a puff of fresher air as the door swung open. Wil- bur Farnham, light extinguished, reached for Jane’s hand, found and squeezed it. He caught a tiny sob of pure relief, and he was almost capable of pausing and sooth- ing Jane; but Mr. Cragg, in the open door- way, hissed anxiously: “Say! Could you please hurry up a lit- tle? I think we’ll beat it around the other side of this house and cross the road up above.” “Vou know the way to the station?” “Ves, boss!” said the invaluable eccen- tric, as he passed out. ‘“‘Keep a hand on me here and don’t flash that light.” Behind them, they caught the faint out- line of Justice Codd’s roof against the sky. There was a light in an upper window, too, where doubtless Miss Codd sat and pon- dered upon the eventful night—and the light sent them along at increased speed! In a wide detour they hurried, soundless, almost unbreathing—out to the main road finally and across it, between a black house and a blacker barn, and then by a path to the road beyond. Here the going was easier, for it was a stretch of few buildings and some width; a stimulating stretch, too, for from it they could see the tracks and the signal lights on their tall posts. And now, in the far distance, a whistle blew suddenly and all three jumped! “T got nearly fifty dollars on™ 283 “That’s it!” gasped Mr. Cragg! “Come on! We gotter beat it now for further or- ders!” Pell mell down the black road, caution forgotten, light flashing here and there as they raced, the trio sped toward the station. A stray dog barked and set their feet fairly to flying. A rock sought to trip Wilbur Farnham headlong and came near to bring- ing a shout from him. But they were on the downgrade and Cragg was tearing ahead, even as they caught the hum of a heavy train—yes, and now Cragg was on the platform of the de- serted little building and swinging the red light left for possible travelers. Into Batesford roared the long night ex- press for New York city. And it paused and a conductor and a porter stepped down and looked about, finding a strange trio who lunged as one person at the Pullman steps. Then the express moved on again and three happy souls had been subtracted from Batesford’s floating population. Travel was light at this season, appar- ently; the sleeper was hardly half filled. With the wonderful Crageg’s little roll of bills in his pocket, Mr. Farnham ceased being the panting refugee and became his rather impressive self once more, promptly commandeering the snug little stateroom for Jane and sending the black porter to ’ bustling about therein. The adjoining section would do surpass- ingly well for Cragg and himself. Even now the little driver had dropped upon one of its long seats and was mopping his fore- head and looking at the last lights of Bates- ford, as the fast train gathered speed again and hurtled through the black morning. At one side of the stateroom doorway leaned Jane Fayre, weary to the point of collapse, yet smiling as she watched the porter. At the other leaned Mr. Wilbur Farnham, also rather more tired than he had ever been before, but smiling at Jane. For they were safe! With luck, their flight would not be discovered until after sunrise; even then, there would be none. to tell of the direction they had taken and the chances were greatly in favor of Thornton Hill’s organizing a posse and scouring the surrounding country before it occurred to him to wire after the night train. Wilbur Farnham smiled more widely. “We're out of it, Jane, dear,” said he. “We'll be back in the good old town before noon.” — COMMICLOokKs (C@