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“Oh, but we couldn’t think of it,” she protested. “After we have had something to eat we must hurry off to the station.”

“What station?” asked Crosby sententiously.

“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be a bit nice to spoil the adventure by stopping now.”

“But we can’t walk all over the State of Illinois,” he cried.

“For shame! You are ready to give up the instant something to eat comes in sight. Mr. Higgins may be able to suggest something. What is the nearest—-“

“I have it,” interrupted Crosby. “The Wabash road runs through this neighborhood, doesn’t it? Well, where is its nearest station?”

“Lonesomeville–about four miles south,” said Higgins.

“Do the night trains stop there?”

“I guess you can flag ’em.”

“There’s an east-bound train from St. Louis about midnight, I’m quite sure.”

While the fugitives were enjoying Mrs. Higgins’s hastily but adorably prepared meal, the details of the second stage of the flight were perfected. Mr. Higgins gladly consented to hitch up his high-boarded farm wagon and drive them to the station on the Wabash line, and half an hour later Higgins’s wagon clattered away in the night. To all appearances he was the only passenger. But seated on a soft pile of grain sacks in the rear of the wagon, completely hidden from view by the tall “side-beds,” were the refugees. Mrs. Delancy insisted upon this mode of travel as a precaution against the prying eyes of persistent marshal’s men. Hidden in the wagon-bed they might reasonably escape detection, she argued, and Crosby humored her for more reasons than one. Higgins threw a huge grain tarpaulin over the wagon-bed, and they were sure to be dry in case the rainstorm came as expected. It was so dark that neither could see the face of the other. He had a longing desire to take her hand into his, but there was something in the atmosphere that warned him against such a delightful but unnecessary proceeding. Naturally, they were sitting quite close to each other; even the severe jolting of the springless wagon could not disturb the feeling of happy contentment.

“I hope it won’t storm,” she said nervously, as a little shudder ran through her body. The wind was now blowing quite fiercely and those long-distant rolls of thunder were taking on the sinister sound of near- by crashes. “I don’t mind thunder when I’m in the house.”

“And under the bed, I suppose,” he laughed.

“Well, you know, lightning COULD strike this wagon,” she persisted. “Oh, goodness, that was awfully close!” she cried, as a particularly loud crash came to their ears.

The wagon came to an abrupt stop, and Crosby was about to crawl forth to demand the reason when the sound of a man’s voice came through the rushing wind.

“What is it?” whispered Mrs. Delancy, clutching his arm.

“Sh!” he replied. “We’re held up by highwaymen, I think!”

“Oh, how lovely!” she whispered rapturously.

“How far are you goin’?” came the strange voice from the night.

“Oh, ‘s far ag’in as half,” responded Higgins warily.

“That you, Scott?” demanded the other.

“Yep.”

“Say, Scott, gimme a ride, will you? Goin’ as far as Lonesomeville?”

“What you doin’ out this time o’ night?” demanded Higgins.

“Lookin’ for a feller that tried to steal Mr. Austin’s horses. We thought we had him cornered up to the place, but he got away somehow. But we’ll get him. Davis has got fifty men scouring the country, I bet. I been sent on to Lonesomeville to head him off if he tries to take a train. He’s a purty desperate character, they say, too, Scott. Say, gimme a lift as far as you’re agoin’, won’t you?”

“I–I–well, I reckon so,” floundered the helpless Higgins.

“Really, this is getting a bit serious,” whispered Crosby to his breathless companion.

The deputy was now on the seat with Higgins, and the latter, bewildered and dismayed beyond expression, was urging his horses into their fastest trot.

“How far is it to Lonesomeville?” asked the deputy.

“‘Bout two mile.”

“It’ll rain before we get there,” said the other significantly.