A Rogue by Compulsion | Page 2

of the wall and coming
the most unholy purler in the very centre of an exceptionally well
armoured blackberry bush.
This blunder probably saved my life: it certainly accounted for my
escape. The warder who evidently had more nerve than I gave him
credit for, must have fired at me from where he was, right between the
heads of the other convicts. It was only my abrupt disappearance from

the top of the wall that saved me from being filled up with lead. As it
was, the charge whistled over me just as I fell, and a devilish
unpleasant noise it made too.
I didn't wait for him to reload. I was out of that bush and off up the hill
in rather less time than it takes to read these words. Where I was going
I scarcely thought; my one idea was to put as big a distance as possible
between myself and the carbine before its owner could ram home a
second cartridge.
As I ran, twisting in and out between the trees, and keeping my head as
low as possible, I could hear behind me a hoarse uproar from my
fellow-convicts, who by this time were evidently getting out of hand.
No sound could have pleased me better. The more boisterous the good
fellows became the less chance would the remaining warder have of
worrying about me. As for the civil guard--well, it seemed probable
that his time was already pretty fully engaged.
My chief danger lay in the chance that there might be other warders in
the immediate neighbourhood. If so, they would doubtless have heard
the firing and have come running up at the first alarm. I looked back
over my shoulder as I reached the top of the plantation, which was
about a hundred yards from the road, but so far as I could see there was
no one as yet on my track.
My one chance lay in reaching the main wood that borders the
Tavistock road before the mounted guard could come up. Between this
and the plantation stretched a long bare slope of hillside, perhaps two
hundred yards across, with scarcely enough cover on it to hide a rabbit.
It was not exactly an inviting prospect, but still the place had to be
crossed, and there was nothing to be gained by looking at it. So setting
my teeth I jumped out from under the shelter of the trees, and started
off as fast as I could pelt for the opposite side.
I had got about half-way over when there came a sudden shout away to
the right. Turning my head as I ran, I saw through the thin mist a figure
in knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket vaulting over the low gate that
separated the moor from the road.

I suppose he was a tourist, for he had a small knapsack fastened to his
back and he was carrying a stick in his hand.
"Tally-ho!" he yelled, brandishing the latter, and then without
hesitation he came charging across the open with the obvious intention
of cutting me off from the wood.
For the first time in three years I laughed. It was not a pretty laugh, and
if my new friend had heard it, his ardour in the chase might perhaps
have been a trifle cooled. As it was he came on with undiminished zest,
apparently quite confident in his ability to tackle me single-handed.
We met about ten yards this side of the nearest trees.
He rushed in on me with another "whoop," and I saw then that he was a
big, powerful, red-faced fellow of a rather coarse sporting type--the
kind of brute I've always had a peculiar dislike for.
"Down you go!" he shouted, and suiting the action to the word, he
swung back his stick and lashed out savagely at my head.
I didn't go down. Instead of that I stepped swiftly in, and striking up his
arm with my left hand, I let him have my right bang on the point of the
chin. Worlds of concentrated bitterness were behind it, and he went
over backwards as if he had been struck by a coal-hammer.
It did me a lot of good, that punch. It seemed to restore my self-respect
in a way that nothing else could have done. You must have been a
convict yourself, shouted at and ordered about like a dog for three
weary years, to appreciate the full pleasure of being able once more to
punch a man in the jaw.
At the moment, however, I had no time to analyze my feelings. Almost
before the red-faced gentleman's shoulders had struck the ground I had
reached the railing which bounded the wood, and putting one hand on
the top bar had vaulted over