The Young Bank Messenger

"I shall like it better if it provides refreshments," replied Fox. "I am simply famished."

"I am sure Mrs. Mason will furnish you with a meal. I will speak to her."

The outlaw seated himself on the bed, and the cord about his wrists was loosened so that he might be able to eat. This might have been regarded as dangerous, as affording him an opportunity to escape, but for two reasons.

In a chair opposite sat Luke Robbins, with a revolver in his hand, watching his prisoner sharply.

"If you make any attempt to escape," he said quietly, "I shall shoot. Now you understand, and will be guided accordingly."

In spite of his unpleasant situation, the outlaw could not help admiring the coolness and resolution of his guard.

"You would make a capital accession to my band," he remarked.

"If that is meant for a compliment," said Luke, dryly, "I thank you."

"You had better think it over. Join my band, and I will make it worth your while."

He fixed his eyes earnestly upon his captor, to see whether he had made any impression upon him.

"When I start on any road," he said, "I like to know where it is coming out."

"Well, this road will lead to wealth."

"I don't read it that way."

"How, then?"

"It will more likely lead to a violent death–or the gallows."

"I have been on that path for ten years, and I am alive, and–"

"A prisoner."

"Yes, at present; but I can tell you this, my Quaker friend, that the tree has not yet grown that will furnish a gallows for John Fox."

"Perhaps so, but I don't feel sure of it."

The outlaw's predicament did not appear to interfere with his appetite. He ate his dinner with evident relish, and left nothing on the plate. When he had completed his meal, Luke called the farmer and requested him to tie his wrists again.

"You can do it better than I," he said. "Besides, I shall need to stand guard."

I was well that he did so, for John Fox, if there had been the least chance of success, would have overpowered the farmer and effected his escape. But with the eye of Luke Robbins upon him, and the pistol in his hand ready to go off at an instant's notice, there was nothing to do but to submit to being rebound.

CHAPTER XII.

THE OUTLAW'S ESCAPE

The outlaw was left for several hours alone in the attic of the farmer's house. He felt far from comfortable, and he experienced great mortification at the thought that he had been captured by a Quaker.

"I might as well have been captured by a woman," he said to himself. "I shall never hold up my head again–that is," he added, after a pause, "unless I circumvent him and get away."

Fox dragged himself to the window and looked out.

"If only my brother knew where I was," he reflected, "he would soon turn the tables on those clodhoppers."

But, as he knew, his brother was twenty miles away, on a different expedition.

John Fox was a man of expedients. In his long career as an outlaw he had more than once been "in a hole," but he had never failed by some means or other to extricate himself. This was what he decided to do at present, if it were possible.

It was not for some time that he bethought himself of a knife that he had in his pocket. If he could get it out so as to use it, he would be able to cut the ropes that bound him and escape–that is, if he were not interfered with.

He looked out of the window again, and saw Luke Robbins and the farmer walking up the road.

"They think I am safe," soliloquized Fox, "but perhaps they may find themselves mistaken."

He reflected with satisfaction that there was no one in the house but Mrs. Mason and himself. She was a timid, nervous woman, who would wilt at a look from him. Yet as matters stood he was helpless even against her.

As it was uncertain how long his two jailers would be absent, it behooved him to escape as soon as possible. There was of course a difficulty in the way, as his hands were securely tied together at the wrists, and he could not, therefore, thrust them into his pocket and obtain the knife. But possibly by rolling over he might manage to make it slip out. It seemed the only possible way to accomplish his object, so he at once set to work. Rolling over and over, he at length found himself in such a position that the knife–a large jack-knife–slipped from the gaping mouth of the pocket.

"Ha, that is the first step towards success," he cried triumphantly.

Next he must pick up the knife and open it. This was easier than the first step. His hands were tied at the wrists, but his fingers were free to work. It seemed a simple thing to open the knife, but it took him some time. At last, however, he succeeded.

"That is the second step towards liberty," he said in a jubilant tone.

The next thing was to cut the cord that bound his wrists. That was difficult. In fact, it took him longer than both the first steps together. It chanced, unfortunately for him, that the knife had not been sharpened for a long time. Then the cord was stout and thick, and even had his hands been free, it would have taken him some time to cut it. As matters stood, he was placed at great disadvantage.

"If they should come back it would be maddening," he reflected, and as the thought came to him he looked out of the window. But nowhere were the two men visible. They had evidently no fear of his escape.

"They are fools! They don't know me!" said the outlaw to himself.

He resumed his efforts to cut the cord. It was slow work, but perseverance, even in a bad cause, is apt to be crowned with success, and this was the case here. After twenty minutes, the last strand parted, and, with a feeling of relief, John Fox stretched out his hands, free once more.

His feet were still tied, but with his hands at liberty, there was very little difficulty in cutting the rope that tied them.

In less that five minutes the outlaw rose to his feet a free man.

He smiled–a smile of exultation and triumph.

"My Quaker friend will be surprised to find me gone. He will understand John Fox a little better. He will have to wait a little longer for his thousand dollars."

John Fox was himself again, but for the first time in ten years, except when he was the temporary tenant of a jail, he was unarmed.

"What has that fellow done with my revolver?" he asked himself. "If it is any where in the house I won't go off without it."

Half an hour earlier and he would have been content with his liberty. Now he wanted his revolver, and his thoughts recurred to the money which the farmer had drawn that morning from the bank. It was five hundred dollars, as Luke had rather incautiously let out.

John Fox was not without hopes of securing both. The coast was clear, and only Mrs. Mason was left in the house. He might terrify her, and so secure the articles he had set his heart upon. But, clearly, there was no time to be lost, as Luke and the farmer might return at any minute.