"Laugh and the world laughs with you," said Cherry, who had an
assortment of literary quotations culled from heaven knows where. "Shout
and you sleep alone!"

The muzzle of a long-barrelled '45 was stuck in the man's stomach. He
did not see it, but he guessed it, and his hands went up.

"Tie him up--he wears braces," said Cherry. "I'll take that belt of
deadly weapons." He pulled one revolver from the man's holster and
examined it with an expert's eye. "Not been cleaned for a month," he
growled; "you don't deserve to be trusted with a gun."

He strapped the belt about his waist and sighed happily.

They gagged the man with a handkerchief, and threw him ungently upon
the bench before they passed through the open door to comparative
freedom. Cherry locked and bolted the door behind them, and pulled down
the outer shutter, with which, on occasions, the gaoler made life in the
cells a little more unendurable by excluding the light. The cells were
below the level of the courtyard, and they moved along the trench from
which they opened.

Pacing his beat by the gateway was a solitary sentry.

"Stay here," whispered Cherry; "he has seen me going backward and
forward, and maybe he thinks I'm one of the official classes."

He mounted the step leading up from the trench, and walked boldly toward
the gateway. Nearing the man, he turned to wave a greeting to an
imaginary companion. In reality he was looking to see whether there were
any observers of the act which was to follow.

Watching him, they did not see exactly what had happened. Suddenly the
soldier doubled up like a jack-knife and fell.

Cherry bent over him, lifted the rifle and stood it against the wall,
then, exhibiting remarkable strength for so small a man, he picked up
the man in his arms and dropped him into the trench which terminated at
the gateway. They heard the thud of his body, and, breaking cover, they
raced across the yard, joining Cherry, who led the way through the deep
arch.

Now they saw the outer barrier. It consisted of a formidable iron
grille. To their right was a gloomy building, which Malcolm judged was
the bureau of the prison, to the left a high wall. On either side of the
gateway was a squat lodge, and before these were half a dozen soldiers,
some leaning against the gate, some sitting in the doorway of the
lodges, but all carrying rifles.

"This way," said Cherry under his breath, and turned into the office.

The door of the room