NED LYONS IN DISGUISE
The next morning, of course, the whole prison knew of the escape.
"If I get out I'll have you out in a few weeks," Ned had promised, and every day I was expecting some word from him.
As time went on, the confidence the matron and the doctor had in me seemed to increase rather than diminish. Soon I was allowed to accompany the matron's little daughters on long walks through the grounds outside the prison, and even as far as the village.
On one of these walks my attention was attracted by the peculiar actions of an old Indian peddler. He was a copper-colored, long-haired old chief, with Indian baskets and strings of beads on his arms. As soon as the girls and I stepped out of the prison gate this queer looking, bent old man singled us out from all the rest of the crowd and began following us about, urging us with muffled grunts to buy some of the bead goods he carried in a basket strapped around his neck.
I thought he was crazy and told him very emphatically that I didn't want any of his trash. But this did not discourage him in the least, and he dogged our footsteps wherever we went.
At last—more to be rid of the old fellow than because I wanted anything he had—I selected from his stock a pair of bead slippers.
As I handed him the money I felt him press a little folded slip of paper into the hollow of my hand.
Quick as a flash I closed my fingers over it, and in that instant I recognized—under the old Indian peddler's clever disguise—my husband, Ned Lyons.
He had come back to the very gates of the prison from which he had escaped to bring this message to me!