FORTY MILES AN HOUR.
The train was going out of Louisville.
The rate of speed was forty miles an hour.
Ten Owen County yahoos had been beaten at three-card monte.
They pulled at long black bottles. The vacuum made by the loss of their money, they filled with whisky.
"Boys, let's have our money and watches back, or kill that gambler," shouted one of them.
Owen County boys are rough, and tough.
It's a word and a blow, and the blow first.
When in crowd together, Owen County boys are as brave as a warrior; single-handed and alone, they are as cowardly as a sick kitten.
Canada Bill was not well, so I had been doing the playing.
Bill did the capping; and as he lost, their suspicion did not light on him.
I suddenly had an idea. I rushed back into the hind sleeper, and gave the porter a five-dollar bill. "Tell them the door is locked, and I have the key," were my words.
I was none too quick. The train was going at forty miles an hour, and was sixteen minutes behind time. La Grange was only three miles off, and well I knew that if I got off there I would have to give up.
Did I want to give up my hard-earned money? Never! Lowering my body carefully at a clear spot in the road, I jumped, took chances, broke no bones, rolled over in the dirt, and heard a shower of bullets whizzing past my ears from the fast receding train, that was soon out of sight.
Fortunately the country was not new to me, and skipping over a fence, I avoided La Grange, and soon reached the Lexington Junction, some distance above.
"Have you heard the news?" said a switchman.
"No. What is it?"
"The Owen County boys have just killed some gamblers a short distance below La Grange."
"Glad of it," was all the response he got. Meantime I walked in towards Lexington.
At the first station I boarded a train for Lexington, put up at the hotel for a couple of days, and there revived an acquaintance with Clem Payne, clerk of the hotel, whom I had known twenty years or so ago at Kansas City.
One morning I was called for the early train for Louisville, and while waiting for breakfast I made the acquaintance of a large fat man, who was going on a stage journey afar back in the country.
We got into conversation (I was always partial to conversation with strangers), and it was not long before I showed him the big three.
He became intensely interested, and in a few moments I had his twelve fifty-dollar bills.
I did not deem it advisable to wait for breakfast, but, paying my bill, jumped into a hack and drove to the first station in time to make the train.
Before La Grange was reached, I entered the baggage-car and told the baggage-master to pile the trunks all around me. I was thus completely hid, as snug as a bug in a rug.
When La Grange was reached, there were signs of tumult about. Five of the Owen County gang were at the depot, and they boarded every train, and had been doing it for two days.
A newsboy gave me away, and told them where I was secreted. They all then remained on board and kept a regular watch over me until Louisville was reached.
The train moves slowly through the city. I quietly slipped off; not quick enough, however, for one of them espied me, and, pulling his revolver, shot—not me, but himself.
His companions all ran.
He lay upon the ground bellowing like a calf, and said I had shot him.
The police arrested me.
Mr. Shadburne was the Chief of Police. I related to him the true facts of the case.
"Release that man," he said. "I will be responsible for his appearance in the morning."
Morning came, and the Owen County deputation were early at the court-house with a lawyer.
They wanted to compromise for $500.
"No, sir, not for a cent."
They dropped to $100. The lawyer wanted $50. I gave them $100, and they went off with their hard-earned stuff.