During all this time I said nothing although I thought a great deal. Hathaway drove, according to Meany's orders, toward the Half-Way House. It struck me, as well as the deputy sheriff and also Hathaway (as I afterwards learned from their conversation), that the mob was lying in wait at the bridge, at the crossing of Bear Creek. I kept a sharp look-out ahead, and in a few minutes the Bear Creek bridge loomed up through the fog, about one hundred yards ahead. I kept a steady eye on the structure as we drew near, expecting every second to see the forms of the devils. At last the bridge was reached and crossed, and that which I most dreaded and feared--the crossing of Bear Creek bridge--was passed in safety. While crossing the bridge, I looked behind and perceived eight men about one hundred yards behind, on foot, approaching the bridge. The programme was not laid down quite right. They were about one minute behind time, thanks to John Hathaway's rapid driving, who, of course, together with the deputy sheriff, knew nothing of the little arrangement to get me on the road. But they strongly suspected, as I learned from a word that I caught from their whispered conversation. After crossing the bridge, Hathaway whipped up his horses, and we started off at a rapid pace for the Half-Way House. I heard Deputy Sheriff Breen remark to Hathaway: "John, its strange Meany didn't tell us to keep right on to Modesto, instead of stopping so near town. But I have got to follow instructions. If the mob comes, I'll turn Harry loose, d----d if I don't, if there is no other recourse." I then spoke up and said: "Well, Mr. Breen, if you do, and I am alive, you will find me in the Modesto jail inside of a week." He then remarked: "Oh, they may not come." The above remark was the only one I passed from the time of leaving the lock-up till I arrived at the Half-Way House, as I was deeply engaged in thought, trying to arrive at some plan to outwit the mob, whom I felt certain would be on my tracks ere long, if they were not so already. It was half-past seven or eight o'clock when we arrived at the Half-Way House, six miles north of Merced. I was led into the house, securely handcuffed. The horses were taken out of their traces; then supper was ordered. We sat down to the table and eat our supper. After finishing my repast, I was conducted to a room and put to bed with the hand-cuffs on. I had no sooner laid down when I was agreeably surprised to see my brother George step into the room--a young man about twenty years of age, and brave as a lion. Like a sleuth-hound he had scented me out. It was then between eight and nine o'clock. In presence of Hathaway, Breen and the host, we held a hurried conversation. George was armed and on horseback, but his horse was completely fagged out. He said: "I will ride to town, and if met by the mob on the road, I will put spurs to my horse and give the officer an alarm."