He had expected to be called into the guard-room, or, at least, that Minnie would have stood in the open door. Moreover, besides these precautions, his quick eye caught the gleam of a scarcely covered rifle-barrel at one of the windows.
But he went up firmly, without any appearance of disappointment, and presented his gift to the child, smiling on her involuntarily, even at that bitter moment.
Minnie took her present with delight, and, being unable to hold it, put it into the deputy’s hand. Then, before either of them divined her intention, she flung her arms around the convict’s neck, and gave him a loving kiss.
It was too much. In the despair of that moment, he cared little for the curious eyes that watched him. Clasping the child in his arms, he burst into tears.
There was a moment of silence. All were awed by such a display of emotion in such a man. In that moment Jeffries had controlled himself, put away the little hands that tenderly strove to wipe his tears, and turned to descend the steps.
The guard inside unlocked the door, and the deputy was leading his charge in. Jeffries was half-way down the stairs when the click of the lock struck his ear, and stiffened his nerves like steel. One bound, and he was within the door, pushing with main strength against three men who struggled to close the lock before he could enter. The strength of desperation was his, and he overcame them, and entered the guard-room, caught Minnie Raynor in his arms, as a shield, while he hastily pulled out the bar of iron suspended from his waist, and fumbled for the guard-key which was to unlock the last door that stood between him and liberty.
It was all the work of a minute. The child clung to his breast, pale and trembling, and hid her face in affright from the muzzles of fire-arms that sought to find him unguarded, and, holding her as his defence, Jeffries reached the outward door.
An accident favored him, for it was the hour for changing guard on the walls, and the relieved guard, coming up outside, opened the door behind the fugitive. The surprise was too sudden. They could not stop him. Still holding the child for a shield, Jeffries sprang down the outer stairs, and found himself in the opened yard of the warden’s house.
But the alarm-bell had been rung, and a command shouted across the posts, and as the fugitive fled across the green to the gate, he was confronted by one man, while two others followed close on his steps. There was no help for it. This man in his path must be disabled. He dropped the child from his arms, and raised the iron bar at the same moment that his opponent, having apparently more faith in the strength of the stock than the accuracy of his aim, lifted the butt-end of his rifle for a blow.
“You shall not strike him!” cried Minnie Raynor, and flung herself forward to shield her friend; and, at the same instant, both blows fell. The guard aimed falsely, but the convict, striking with fierce precision, would have hit his adversary but for that loving interposition. Alas! the blow struck the fair temple of the prisoner’s dearest and only friend.