CHAPTER XIX
In the tedious hours of waiting after parting from Nell, Jack Reeves was infinitely cheered by the consciousness that he would have for an ally in this crisis one such as Jim Maxwell. Often, there came into the prisoner's thought a memory of how he had last seen the trapper. He had turned for a look back as the sled dropped to the level of the valley. The solitary dweller in that wild place had been standing erect and motionless before the cabin—a splendid figure of a man, posed in unconscious majesty.
A SPLENDID FIGURE OF A MAN, POSED IN UNCONSCIOUS MAJESTY.
There was, of course, the risk that Jim Maxwell might be away from the cabin and so not available to render assistance. That risk, however, could not be avoided, since there was no one else to whom appeal might be made. But Jack was able to hold an optimistic frame of mind. Somehow the effect made upon him by the stranger whom he and Nell had rescued from death was such that he felt a certain confidence as to the outcome of his plan, merely because it depended vitally on the coöperation of Jim Maxwell. Jack was sure that he could have secured this assistance, even had there been no sense of obligation to bind the stranger to his service. With Jim Maxwell's obvious and profound gratitude for having been rescued from death, there could be no doubt concerning his response to the prisoner's call for help.
Though he was busy with thoughts concerning his projected flight, Jack found the day dragging endlessly. It seemed an eternity before at last the shadows lengthened into night. Then, indeed, when patience was least needed, it became most difficult. Now that the time was so near at hand, the minutes crawled with a sluggishness that was exasperating. It seemed to Jack that the sheriff purposed to sit in the adjoining room throughout the night. It was only when he looked at his watch that the fretting captive learned how anxiety deceived him, for it yet lacked a half-hour of the official's usual retiring time.
Finally, since all things have an end, the sheriff stood up, and, after an amiable but formal good-night, went out into the living-quarters of the house. Followed an hour that was still more laggard than any of those that had preceded it in this most laggard day. Jack had decided that there could be no need of waiting until late at night before making his attempt. There were only two classes among the citizens of the town. One went to bed early; the other went very late—if at all. The prisoner hoped that the first class would sleep too soundly to have any knowledge of his undertaking until too late to thwart it; that the second class would be too drunk for serious interference.
When he deemed it time to begin his preparations for escape, Jack gathered the most inflammable parts of the litter on the floor. There was more than sufficient for his purpose, since the sheriff, however great his other official virtues, was by no manner of means a tidy person. This collection of fragments of paper and wood was stacked against the partition that separated the cell from the outer room, midway on one side of the door. The prisoner was at pains to use only paper and splinters, which would burn with little smoke. He had chosen the only possible point of attack for his purpose. The other three walls of the cell were of heavy timbers, which could have been set on fire only with difficulty, and, once well alight, would have assuredly roasted to death any one in the place, since there could have been no possibility of breaking through them.
The situation was different as to the wall in which the door was set. This was made of boards, instead of logs. They were too heavy to be broken through by blows from the heavy chair, which was the only tool available to the prisoner. Jack had conceived the possibility of setting fire to some of the lower boards, and thus weakening them to a point where they would yield to his attack. So, now, when he had placed his kindling in position, he made ready with the match.