Both men looked up to the window of the cell, and saw a bull’s-eye lantern, the muzzle of a pistol, and the face of the Bowerton constable.
The constable’s right eye, the sights of his pistol and the breast of the convict were on the same visual line.
Without altering his position or that of his weapon, the constable whispered:
“I’ve had you covered for the last ten minutes. I only held in to find out who was helping you; but I heard too much for my credit as a faithful officer. Now, what are you going to do?”
“Turn over a new leaf,” said the convict, bursting into tears.
“Then get out,” whispered the officer, “and be lively, too—it’s almost daybreak.”
“I’ll tell you what to do,” said little Guzzy, when the constable hurriedly whispered:
“Wait until I get out of hearing.”
The excitement which possessed Bowerton the next morning, when the events of the previous night were made public, was beyond the descriptive powers of the best linguists in the village.