OCR Interpretation


The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, March 03, 1914, NOON EDITION, Image 19

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1914-03-03/ed-1/seq-19/

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knew you was a heavy cater, Mr.
Maxwell."
Maxwell looked at him in perplex
ity. He could not understand this.
Nobody had ever done a disinterested
act for him before.
"You see, Mr. Maxwell, I guess I
know how you felt when you got me
a life sentence," said Morton. "And I
knew you was as staunch as steel to
your friends. So I wanted to be your
friend and to have you for mine
leastways, until we part.'
Maxwell growled and gnawed the
food. He had' eaten no supper in his
excitement, and the bread stayed a
horrible f aintness inside. When he
had eaten it all he rose. "Come
along," he snarled again.
As they continued their flight they
heard a strange, mellow sound, very
far away, that rang down the open
glades.
"What's that?" asked Maxwell, his
heart sinking.
"Bloodhounds," muttered the boy.
"Come on."
They -raced forward, and every
minute the baying became more audi
ble. And when at last, from the crest
of a little' knoll, the sea suddenly
broke upon their sight, glittering in
the moonlight, the hounds gave
tongue not half a mile behind.
"Come on," muttered the boy
again.
Those last moments were terrible.
It seemed as though they would never
reach their haven. As they reached
the shore the leading hound emerged
through the trees and' came leaping
toward them, uttering a full-toned
howl of discovery.
There lay the boat, where Maxwell
had expected it. It was the work of
a moment for both to leap into it and
push off with the oars. Then Maxwell
1 turned to the engine. Morton flung
himself down in the bottom of the
little craft.
The hounds debouched' upon the
shore, ten paces distant. Two horse
men emerged from the scrub and,
reining in their steeds, unslung their
rifles. "Come back, 72," they called
The engine would not start. Max
well worked at it desperately. The
rifle barrels were covering him now.
"It's no use, 72 !" cried the warden.
"I have you covered. I can put a bul
let through your heart, sure. Best
come back."
One last attempt and the convict
realized the hopelessness of his en
deavor. He had been beaten by one
minute and a cranky piece of obso
lete mechanism. He stared hopeless
ly around him.
"It's no good wasting time, 72," the
warden continued, pleasantly. "That
was a neat trick of yours and we
have you now, and you'd best come
quietly. ."The rest of the boys want
to welcome you, Maxwell."
"The rest of the boys." The hunted
man glanced down toward his com
panion, who crouched in terror upon
the bottom. This wretched fellow had
given him his supper; he had wanted
to be his friend.
"Say, you!" he whispered. "I'm go
ing ashore. They haven't spotted you.
Lie low till they're out of sight and
then pull like the devil. Three miles
out you will come on a yacht. Under
stand? Pull till you're off the coast,
and then, if you don't see her, wait
till dawn. They'll take you aboard if
you give 'em my name and say the
chief sent you.5'
"Are you .coming, Maxwell?" de
manded the warden, ominously. The
barrels were still covering him. "I
shall count three," the warden con
tinued. "One!"
"Ask for Mr. Briggs, boy, and tell
him I said he was to see you to where
yqu want to go and give you what
money you need, because "
"Two!"
"Because you are a particular
friend of mine."
"Three!"
Maxwell threw up his hands. "I
surrender!" he shouted. And, strug
gling to his" feet, he jumped over
board and scrambled through two
feet of muddy water. He stretched his

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