t
four o'clock on a dull March afternoon.

In the roadway, on either side of us, tramped an armed warder, his
carbine in his hand, his eyes travelling with dull suspicion up and
down the gang. Fifteen yards away, parallel with our route, the sombre
figure of one of the civil guards kept pace with us through the trees.
We were a cheery party!

Suddenly, without any warning, one of the warders turned faint. He
dropped his carbine, and putting his hand to his head, stumbled
heavily against the low wall that separated us from the wood. The
clatter of his weapon, falling in the road, naturally brought all
eyes round in that direction, and seeing what had happened the whole
eighteen of us instinctively halted.

The gruff voice of the other warder broke out at once, above the
shuffling of feet:

"What are you stopping for? Get on there in front."

From the corner of my eye I caught sight of the civil guard hurrying
towards the prostrate figure by the wall; and then, just as the
whole gang lurched forward again, the thing happened with beautiful
abruptness.

A broad, squat figure shot out suddenly from the head of the column,
and, literally hurling itself over the wall, landed with a crash
amongst the thick undergrowth. There was a second shout from the
warder, followed almost instantly by a hoarse command to halt, as the
civil guard jerked his carbine to his shoulder.

The fugitive paid about as much attention to the order as a tiger
would to a dog whistle. He was off again in an instant, bent almost
double, and bursting through the tangled bushes with amazing
swiftness.

Bang!

The charge of buckshot whistled after him, spattering viciously
through the twigs, and several of the bolder spirits in the gang at
once raised a half-hearted cry of "Murder!"

"Stop that!" bawled the warder angrily, and to enforce his words he
quickened his steps so as to bring him in touch with the offenders.

As he did so, I suddenly perceived with extraordinary clearness that I
should never again get quite such a good chance to escape. The other
men were momentarily between me and the warder, while the civil guard,
his carbine empty, was plunging through the trees in pursuit of his
wounded quarry.

It was no time for hesitation, and in any case hesitation is not one
of my besetting sins. I recollect taking one long, deep breath: then
the next thing I remember is catching my toe on the top of the
wall and coming the most unholy pur