Fay worked quickly. He took the rope the old convict found, and trussed the guard, after taking off the raincoat. He made sure that the man would make no outcry. He fastened a stick in his mouth and tied it behind his head. He rose and glanced through the down-pouring rain. “I knocked him out,” he said. “Now, Charley, put on that raincoat, take the cap and rifle and walk slowly toward the auto-truck. Get in the front. Stand up like a guard.” “But they might know me!” “They wont know you. It’s raining. The screws on the wall will think you are taking the truck out, by order of the warden. I’ll drive. An inmate always drives.” The guard who sat huddled in the little house which loomed over the great gate at Rockglen rose, opened a small window and glanced out as he heard the motortruck mounting the grade from the prison yard. He saw what he thought was the figure of a guard standing by a convict. The convict crouched with partly hidden face over the steering-wheel. “All right!” shouted Charley O’Mara, motioning with his rifle toward the closed gate. The guard squinted for a second time. He caught, through the rain, the gleam of brass on the cap Charley wore. He saw the rifle. He reached and pulled at a lever. The gate slowly opened, first to a crack, then wide. Fay pressed forward the clutch pedal, shifted from neutral to first speed, stepped on the accelerator and let the clutch pedal up gently. The truck mounted the top of the grade, churned through the gate, turned in front of the warden’s house and took the incline which led over the hill from Rockglen. * * * * * All might have gone well for the convicts had it not been for the rain. Water had formed in deep pools along the road. Into these pools Fay guided the clumsy truck. He heard the engine miss an explosion. A sputter followed. The truck slowed. An explosion sounded in the muffler. The insulation wires grounded and short-circuited. The truck stopped. Fay sprang from the driver’s seat and opened the hood. He attempted to find the trouble. A dangling wire, touching the engine’s frame, was sodden with water. “No go!” he said to Charley. “Come on! We’ll leave the truck and take to the woods. That means a chase as soon as the big whistle blows.” The two convicts were crossing an open field when they heard the first menacing blasts from the prison siren. They ran for shelter. A dog barked. A farmhand came through the underbrush. He stood watching. “Keep your nerve!” said Fay. “You’ve got the rifle. Night is coming on. Follow me.” The trail led away from Rockglen. Fay sensed the general direction. He attempted to gain a railroad junction where a freight could be taken for Chicago. He was headed off by a motorcar load of prison guards. He saw the danger in time. “To the right,” he whispered to O’Mara. “Follow me. Don’t cave, pal.” “I’m all in,” sobbed the old convict.