Now, Flecker did not intend to go to the station house if he could possibly avoid it. He knew that his record was a black one, and once before the bar of justice he would be sure to get a sentence of at least several years.
Goshen boasts of a race track at which each year a number of important horse races are run. The races were now on, and the town was filled with folks who had come in by train and in carriages.
As the policemen and their prisoner were crossing one of the main streets, a cry arose.
“Look out for the runaway!”
A horse attached to a buggy was tearing along the street at topmost speed. The vehicle was empty, and was swaying from side to side as if about to go over.
“Look out there!” yelled one of the policemen to some children who were crossing the street near by. And then he ran out to go to their assistance, and so did the other policeman, for the runaway horse was now dangerously close.
This was an opportunity not to be missed by Gabe Flecker, and without an instant’s hesitation he slipped around a corner and ran down the side street towards the railroad. Here he watched his chance, and boarded a freight train running towards New York.
“Just my luck,” he told himself, smilingly, when safe on the train. “They don’t get Gabe Flecker in jail as easily as they think.”
The policemen soon had the children out of the way, and a moment later the runaway horse was stopped without doing much damage. Then both policemen looked for their prisoner.
“He’s gone!” cried one.