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Updated: May 19, 2025
If they can saw a rifle-barrel in two in five minutes, you ought to get out of here inside of an hour." "Not quite," whispered Beigh. "My hands and feet are ironed." "Then I'll do the job myself," whispered Guzzy, as he applied the tool to one of the bars; "for it will be daylight within two hours."
He did not meditate inflicting personal violence on the hated wretch who had snatched away Helen from his hopes no, personal violence could produce suffering but feeble compared with that under which the victim would writhe as Guzzy poured forth the torrent of scornful invective which he had compiled from the memories of his bilious brain and the pages of his "Webster Unabridged."
When I reached the house, these gentlemen already had him in hand, and they claim he's an escaped convict, and that they've tracked him from the prison right straight to Bowerton." The prisoner gave the officers a very wicked look, while these officials produced their warrants and handed them to the justice for inspection. Guzzy seemed to himself to grow big with accumulating importance.
Every one started, the officers stared, the squire looked a degree or two less stupid, and hastened to button his dressing-gown; the restless eyes of the convict fell on Helen's beautiful face, and were restless no longer; while little Guzzy assumed a dignified pose, which did not seem at all consistent with his confused and shamefaced countenance.
Nevertheless, they crowded to Guzzy's store, to look at him, until shrewd people began to wonder whether Guzzy hadn't really taken Beigh as a sort of advertisement to draw trade.
Five minutes later the convict, his hands unbound, crawled through the window, and was helped to the ground by Guzzy. Seizing the file from the little bookkeeper, Beigh commenced freeing his feet. Suddenly he stopped and whispered: "You'd better go now. I can take care of myself, but if those cursed officers should take a notion to look around, it would go hard with you. Run, God bless you, run!"
It was months before Bowerton gossip descended again to its normal level; for a few weeks after the escape of Beigh, little Guzzy, who had never been supposed to have unusual credit, and whose family certainly hadn't any money, left his employer and started an opposition store.
Suddenly he raised one of the windows, and Guzzy, who had not until then suspected that he had been watching a house-breaker, sped away like the wind and alarmed the solitary constable of Bowerton. That functionary requested Guzzy to notify Squire Jones, justice of the peace, that there was business ahead, and then hastened away himself.
Then the officers escorted the prisoner to the jail, and Guzzy sneaked quietly out, while the squire retired to his slumbers, with the firm conviction that if Solomon had been a justice of the peace at Bowerton, his denial of the newness of anything under the sun would never have been made.
Bar after bar disappeared, and when Guzzy finally stopped to rest, Beigh saw a small square of black sky, unobstructed by any bars whatever. "Now," whispered Guzzy, "I'll drop in a small box you can stand on, so you can put your hands out and let me file off your irons. I brought a file or two, thinking they might come handy."
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