Mountain life -- Tennessee -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
All the loungers saw it. The conductor saw it, and yet he cried out,
“All aboard!” and sprang upon the platform as the train began to move.
The by-standers understood the ruse the next moment. There were two men
in the buggy: one was handcuffed; the other was the sheriff. The deputy
and two guards dragged the prisoner across the platform and upon the
slowly moving train, which forthwith rattled away around the curve at the
greatest speed of which it was capable, leaving the suspected rescuers
gazing blankly at it, and realizing that because of the insecurity of the
county jail Mink was to be lodged in the metropolitan prison of Glaston.
It is said that nothing so expands the mental horizon as the experience
of emotion. In this sense Mink was becoming a wise man. He knew despair
not as a word, a theory, a sentiment, but in its baffled, futile
finality. He had conned all the fine vacillations of suspense. He had
exhausted the delusions of hope.
Only the passion of rage had as yet unsated capacities. As he sat in
the car, shackled, among his guards, he fixed his shining eyes, full
of suppressed ferocity, on Gwinnan’s face, who was absorbed in a book
and heedless of his fellow-travelers. The guards did not notice the
prisoner’s gaze, and after a moment it was diverted for a time. For Mink
had quick enough perceptions and no mean power of deduction. He divined
that his guards and fellow-passengers were in much perturbation lest the
train should be stopped. At every intersection of the country roads with
the track there was a perceptible flurry amongst them, an anxious outlook
to descry mounted and armed men.
He had himself no further expectation of deliverance.
“Nobody’s goin’ ter resk ten year in the Pen’tiary fur rescuin’ me in
broad daylight whar they could be knowed. Ef the mob wanted ter hang me,
though, _they would_,” he said, with the cynicism of the truth.
“Nobody wants ter hang you-uns, Mink, nor hurt ye no-ways. All ye need is
a leetle patience ter wait fur another trial,” said the deputy.
“I ain’t got no mo’ patience,” said Mink drearily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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