But Wilson cautioned me to refrain from expressing my views a few minutes longer, which I did, though feeling that we were walking into the lion’s mouth. It was somewhat near two o’clock when we came to a pike road, running parallel with the stream, and upon pursuing it for a short distance, we came up to a small village. The lads were inclined to pass through it, but then I would not be kept quiet. “I’ll not go a step farther,” was my decision. “Here we are, in a light fit to read a newspaper, taking this tremendous chance. I’ll not do it longer.” Addressing myself to Wilson, I continued: “You must know that the whole country has heard of the robbery by this time, and here we are, six of us, wandering through a strange land, half the time not knowing where we are going. It’s simply a case of breaking in jail, instead of keeping out of it.” Again Wilson urged me to stick to him and the gang, and to show a disposition to be ruled by the majority, whatever my private opinions might be. “Now, George,” I went on, “if there is anything coming to me, I’ll meet you in New York and get it.” Still he, in a most kindly way, urged me to keep along with them, declaring it would not be for much longer. As I owed considerable to him for admitting me to the gang, and as he had always treated me in the most cordial manner, I consented to go on with them for a short time. In the meantime, I will say that we didn’t pass through the heart of the village! I think we had gone about two miles farther when we sighted the Ohio River. There we paused for a moment, to realize what we had accomplished. It came back forcibly that we had passed over a very eventful Sunday and a night of travel into Monday, and had, in fact, been on the move or the anxious seat for more than twenty-four hours. Indeed, much had happened since we made that precipitous flight from the Cadiz car shanty. I shall never forget it. Having our course well in hand now, we soon came up to the railroad, which would take us direct to Wheeling. As we plodded along the ties, we had less to think about our bearings, and consequently more time to lend an ear to the yearnings of our stomachs. We were much in need of food to sustain our strength, for there was no telling what we yet had to encounter. Jack Utley was particularly hungry; or if not more so than the rest of us, he was less philosophical about it, for he presently insisted that he must appease the inner man at any risk whatsoever. “I’ll tackle the first hen-roost I spot,” said he, emphatically. “Better starve the stomach a little, than bar the whole body,” spoke up Tall Jim, with an observable emphasis on the word “bar,” which I interpreted to mean jail. Thus thinking, I nudged Jim, by whose side I was walking.