From Boniface to Bank Burglar; Or, The Price of Persecution: How a Successful Business Man, Through the Miscarriage of Justice, Became a Notorious Bank LooterWhite, George M. (George Miles)
History
From Boniface to Bank Burglar; Or, The Price of Persecution: How a Successful Business Man, Through the Miscarriage of Justice, Became a Notorious Bank Looter
White, George M. (George Miles)
Bank robberies -- United States; Criminals -- Biography; White, George M. (George Miles)
I inched my hands along the plank till I got to the girder, and then
I pulled myself to the path again. I will not dwell upon the great
effort I had to put forth, nor go into detail as to my exhausted state
when at last I was comparatively safe again. When I had crawled twelve
feet more on the planking, I came to the solid bridge flooring, and
with a glad feeling scrambled from my knees. Had I dared, I would
have prayed. Pounding the palms of my hands together for a minute,
a warm sensation of a freer circulation gave me renewed life, and
then I signalled back to Mark that he might know I was safe, and that
he’d better get ready to follow me. Unloosing the cable, I soon had
the arrangements for his safety completed, had received his sign of
readiness, and had notified him to proceed. I knew pretty well that he
would have to surmount about every difficulty I had, and perhaps more,
and I hoped he would succeed as well. One thing I was certain of, and
that was, he would be handicapped more than I. I could have brought
the treasure bag with me, but why should I? I might lose my life and
he might be saved. If I took the bag with me and my life were lost, he
would be deprived of his share of the money, for it would have gone
down with me into the river finally. Now that I had accomplished the
perilous task, it was more than probable that he would fare no worse.
I kept my hands on the cable constantly, that I might be ready for any
emergency. Now and then I detected a trembling that told me of his
coming. After perhaps three minutes had passed, I began drawing in
the cable, and from the slack I coiled on the flooring it was easy to
tell that Shinburn was making progress. I wondered whether he’d be as
successful as I, upon arriving at the break in his narrow way. Suddenly
the cable became taut, and my heart went a-thumping until I felt a
choking sensation. Almost immediately the tension was relaxed, and I
knew Mark was still safe, though no doubt he had met with something
unpleasant. I drew in more slack, presently, but with the utmost
caution, fearful that I might, in some manner, impede his progress. I
believed I could tell by the cable when he crawled over the icy iron
sill, as I had done, and then obliquely, back to the straight way
again. I measured the cable as a woman measures cloth, from elbow to
nose, and found, as near as I could tell in that manner, that about
two-thirds of the entire length was at my feet. That my comrade was
getting near to the end of his tortuous journey there was no doubt.
True enough, for, with the wind bearing the sounds my way, I could hear
the crackling of ice on the planks.
“Mark, Mark, lad!” cried I, and waited intently for a response.
It came in a sort of gasp, as though the speaker were almost
exhausted,--“‘Right, George, ‘right!”
That the poor fellow was about done for I felt certain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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