Todd laughed.

"Pretty good copy! What else?"

"He gave them the slip. They got in touch with me later. We set off on a hunt. Found the fellow in a barn. But he got out at the skylight window and made a run for it."

"The poor devil! He deserved to get away after that," remarked the editor.

"Pretty nearly did, too! One of the detectives winged him on the B. X.

Road," lied the Mayor. "He beat us to it for a time. I went home to bed after a bit, but I heard later that they fell in with their man looking for food in Chinatown in the early morning. He led them another chase up over the high road and down the Kickwillie Loop to the lake. He got into a rowing boat and made out into the middle of the water. The detectives got into Murray's gasoline launch and were soon within hailing distance of him. But the beggar was game, although he must have been half-dead by that time.

"When he saw it was all up, he took off the coat, or sweater, or whatever it was he was wearing, wrapped it round the little anchor in the boat, undid the rope and plumped the lot into the lake."

"What on earth did he do that for?" asked Pederstone.

"Oh, I guess he got the clothes from someone up here and didn't wish to implicate them."

"By gosh! but he was game," put in Ben Todd. "Darned if I wouldn't like a shake of his hand for that!"

The editor turned, and his expression changed. He raised his hat.

"Eh,--excuse my language, Miss Pederstone. I,--I didn't know you were there."

The talk stopped abruptly, as Eileen Pederstone came forward into the centre of the shop.

"h.e.l.lo, Eilie, dear!" cried her father. "Dinner time already? and my work miles ahead of me, while we gossips are going at it like old wives at market. Why,--what's the matter, la.s.s?"

The girl's face showed pale in the light of the forge fire and her eyes were moist.

She pulled herself together.

"Nothing, daddy! I was just feeling sorry for that poor young fellow Mr. Brenchfield was telling about."

"Tuts!" exclaimed Todd, "don't waste your sorrow, Eileen. Why,--he wasn't a young fellow. He was an old, grey-haired, cross-eyed, yellow-toothed, dirty, wizened-faced, knock-kneed specimen of a jailbird escaped from Ukalla. Look up the Advertiser Thursday, you'll see."

"Oh no, he wasn't; he--he,--Mr. Brenchfield----" Eileen stopped.

"Didn't I hear you say he was a young man, Mr. Brenchfield?" she asked, endeavouring to cover up her confusion, turning her big eyes full on the Mayor.

"Why, eh--yes! I did mention something about him being young,"

gallantly agreed Brenchfield.

"Did--he--get--away?" inquired Eileen desperately.

Brenchfield busied himself adjusting his leggings. Eileen put her hand on his arm.

"Did he get away, Mr. Brenchfield?" she asked again.

"Better finish the yarn, Graham!" said Royce Pederstone. "Eilie is like others of her s.e.x; you can't shake her once she gets a grip."

"Well!" resumed Brenchfield uneasily, "as far as I can learn the man jumped out of the rowing boat as the launch came up on him. He tried to swim for it. He evidently knew how to swim, too;--but he was weak as a kitten. The detectives played him. When he was thoroughly exhausted, they let him sink."

"The beasts!" exclaimed Eileen, her body aquiver with sudden anger.

"Guess I had better stop this stuff!" said Brenchfield.

"No, no! Don't mind me. Go on!"

"He came up--and they let him sink again. Next time he came up, they fished him out, because he might not have come up again.

"The fellow came to after a bit. You see, that kind won't kill. So I guess he is now safely back home, in his little eiderdown bed, getting fed with chicken broth;--home in Ukalla jail, where he belongs.

"Little boys always get into trouble when they run away from home, eh, Ben!" laughed Brenchfield.

The coa.r.s.e humour didn't catch on.

Eileen Pederstone laid her basket on the smithy floor, threw a look of contempt into the youthful Mayor's face and walked out with her head high.

"One for his n.o.bs!" laughed Ben Todd. "And, d.a.m.n it!--you cold-blooded alligator!--she served you rightly."

CHAPTER IV

Wayward Langford

While the foregoing was taking place in Pederstone's smithy at Vernock, a scene of a different nature was being enacted in the Governor's private office at Ukalla Prison.

Phil Ralston, somewhat refreshed from a scrubbing, a good sleep and two prison meals, had just been ushered into the presence of the man who held power almost of life and death over every unfortunate confined there.

Phil expected no mercy. His feelings were blunted by what he had already gone through, so the worst that might happen now did not worry him; for, when hope of relief entirely goes, what one has to face loses most of its terrors.

The well-fed, strong-jawed governor leaned over his desk and looked at his prisoner.

"Ay, Ralston! So you were a naughty boy and ran away!"

The young fellow did not reply.

"Look up, man! I'm not going to eat you."

Ralston's eyes met his calmly.

"Why did you run away?"

"Because my time was up, sir!"

"Of course it was! Hang it all!--that's why I can't understand your behaviour."