At last the bridge was reached and crossed, and that which I most dreaded and feared—the crossing of Bear Creek bridge—was passed in safety. While crossing the bridge, I looked behind and perceived eight men about one hundred yards behind, on foot, approaching the bridge.
The programme was not laid down quite right. They were about one minute behind time, thanks to John Hathaway's rapid driving, who, of course, together with the deputy sheriff, knew nothing of the little arrangement to get me on the road. But they strongly suspected, as I learned from a word that I caught from their whispered conversation. After crossing the bridge, Hathaway whipped up his horses, and we started off at a rapid pace for the Half-Way House. I heard Deputy Sheriff Breen remark to Hathaway:
"John, its strange Meany didn't tell us to keep right on to Modesto, instead of stopping so near town. But I have got to follow instructions. If the mob comes, I'll turn Harry loose, d——d if I don't, if there is no other recourse."
I then spoke up and said: "Well, Mr. Breen, if you do, and I am alive, you will find me in the Modesto jail inside of a week."
He then remarked: "Oh, they may not come."
The above remark was the only one I passed from the time of leaving the lock-up till I arrived at the Half-Way House, as I was deeply engaged in thought, trying to arrive at some plan to outwit the mob, whom I felt certain would be on my tracks ere long, if they were not so already. It was half-past seven or eight o'clock when we arrived at the Half-Way House, six miles north of Merced. I was led into the house, securely handcuffed. The horses were taken out of their traces; then supper was ordered. We sat down to the table and eat our supper. After finishing my repast, I was conducted to a room and put to bed with the hand-cuffs on. I had no sooner laid down when I was agreeably surprised to see my brother George step into the room—a young man about twenty years of age, and brave as a lion. Like a sleuth-hound he had scented me out. It was then between eight and nine o'clock. In presence of Hathaway, Breen and the host, we held a hurried conversation. George was armed and on horseback, but his horse was completely fagged out. He said:
"I will ride to town, and if met by the mob on the road, I will put spurs to my horse and give the officer an alarm."
I tried to dissuade him from running any risk, but he would not listen to me. He said:
"I will ride towards town; if I reach there without encountering the mob I will get a fresh horse and stand guard at the bridge."
He then left. I afterward learned that he reached town with his horse completely broken down, and applied to all their livery stables for another, but was told that they were all engaged (doubtless to the mob).