Fighting for Fortune 19 – Franklin · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Fighting for Fortune 19Digging Their Way Out
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Fighting for Fortune 19
Digging Their Way Out
FranklinEnglish
Dean Mercer stared at his companion in startled wonderment.
“To-night?” he repeated vaguely. “Escape from here to-night?”
“Yes,” reaffirmed Marcus deliberately.
“But the guard--the walls?”
“I’ll attend to all that. I mean it, Dean! I’ve been planning at it a score of ways. To-day I made a great discovery. What you have told me decides me. My father needs my help. I’m going to escape to try and find the papers that will prove his innocence. Are you with me?”
“Am I?” cried the excited Dean. “Oh! if we only could escape! Look here!”
“No; look there!”
Marcus had pointed to one corner of the tool shed. A large round wooden cover lay there.
“What is it?” asked Dean curiously.
“A well cover.”
“And the well?”
“Was dried up long ago. I peered in to-day. There’s the first move toward escape!”
Dean Mercer was greatly excited as Marcus detailed his hopes and plans.
The well, he said, was dry at the bottom, twenty feet down. What he proposed to do was to throw in two shovels, jump in themselves, and after pulling the cover back into place, dig.
“Dig? Where to?” asked the dubious Dean.
“To liberty.”
“How?”
“Straight under the wall of the yard. We are within ten feet of it. Then, once past it, we dig upward, burrow to the surface and run for it. Hist! Some one is coming!”
A burly form blocked the entrance to the shed a minute later. It was the warden, and he glanced commendingly at the two busy boys.
“Sort of damp and cold here, ain’t it, boys?” he asked.
“We don’t feel it, sir,” replied Marcus.
“Well, there’s a lot of new flower-seeds in the library to sort; so you can go there and finish the day at it.”
Marcus looked disappointed, and Dean realized that their schemes were nipped in the bud, for that day at least.
There was nothing left but to obey. They passed through the hospital ward, where the nurse was attending to one of the sick boy convicts, and put in the afternoon in grim silence at a table in the library, sorting out the new garden seeds.
“Get all the bread you can,” whispered Marcus as they went for their supper and then to their cells.
Then they were again at the ventilator, in low and cautious tones discussing the vital theme of the hour--escape.
Marcus had a determination that even Dean could not equal.
“Get more bread in the morning and stow it in your clothes,” said Marcus.
“What for?”
“We may need it.”
“In the well?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your plan?”
“We will probably be sent to the garden in the morning.”
“I suppose so.”
“The warden will not follow us to see if we go there. Then all depends on our reaching the tool house without the sentinel seeing us.”
“What’s that for?”
“If we can slip into the tool house without his seeing us, he will suppose that we were not sent to work in the garden.”
“I understand.”
“We get into the well with the shovels at once.”
“Yes.”
“And begin work.”
“But we will be missed?”
“At noon probably.”
“And search be made?”
“I expect that.”
“They may look in the well.”
“Possibly.”
“And then?”
“We can wait, then.”
“We will be safe in the tunnel we have dug by that time.”
“But we can’t escape until dark?”
“We can wait, then.”
“And if they discover us----”
“We’ve tried our best, that’s all, and that ends it!” replied Marcus philosophically.
“To the garden!” was the order of the two boys the next morning, and Marcus led the way toward it.
“Wait!” he whispered. “Now, then, the sentinel is walking in the opposite direction.”
“To the tool house?”
“Yes.”
The boys reached the shed. Glancing from its window Marcus said:
“He never saw us. Now then, off with the cover!”
This was removed.
“Throw in the shovels.”
This, too, was done.
“Get in!”
“It’s terribly, dark!”
“So much the better.”
“And close!”
“We must stand that!”
Five minutes later the two boys were at the bottom of the well, and Marcus had in his descent pulled the cover into place.
They at once attacked the side of the well, removing the loose bricks and mortar, and then digging west, covered them up with the earth.
By noon, although nearly suffocated and pained from their position, they had dug some fifteen feet to the west.
Then there was a forced wait and a careful estimate of time and a wonder as to how far the quest for them would be pursued.
They lunched on the bread that Dean had brought, and crept back to the end of the tunnel nearest to the well shaft to get as much fresh air as was possible, and to decide on fading daylight from the chinks in the well cover.
No one seemed to visit the well. They had no indication as to the fact that their escape had been discovered.
What had really occurred was that the warden had that day gone away until evening.
The sentinel supposed that the boys had not been sent to work in the garden that day, the deputy warden imagined them to be at work there, and when they did not appear at dinner, the guard naturally supposed that they were remaining away under the warden’s orders.
At six o’clock the warden returned, however, and the boys were missed.
The garden was first visited, and the tool shed glanced into, but nothing more, for the sentinel affirmed that he had seen nothing of the fugitives in that locality that day.
A general alarm was given, a general search made, every nook and corner of the prison yard was looked into, but no trace of the boys could be found.
All the evening the quest was kept up, but it proved to be a fruitless one.
About an hour after dusk Marcus Ellison uttered a gasp of relief and excitement.
His spade had pierced the ground over his head. The dirt rained down over them and he looked up and peered around.
The grim walls of the prison showed near at hand, the road beyond, and at its edge a thicket.
“We must creep or run across the road without the sentinels on the walls seeing us,” he said to Dean.
“Can we do it?”
“Yes; the darkness favors us.”
“I am ready!”
“Come on!”
They made a quick dash across the road and paused in the shadow of the trees beyond.
The prison looked silent and serene. Dimly they made out sentinels here and there on the walls, facing the blustering wind and partially blinded by it from viewing the road.
“Safe!” murmured Marcus in thrilling tones.
“Free!” breathed Dean wildly.
Then they sped through the forest, and the distant lights of the reform school faded further and further away.
In the eyes of the law they were fugitive criminals, seeking to baffle justice.
In reality they were two brave, undaunted boys, seeking liberty only to work out a destiny that demanded their attention--two loyal hearts with a great motive in life, the righting of a great wrong, a battle against villainy, in the interests of innocence and the right!
