the store and placed them in the buggy and made everything
ready for an instant escape. Boston Frank unhitched the horse and held
it by the head, while Slippery went back to the store, lit the fuse and
then stood at the rear door until an explosion, which seemed to tear the
store asunder told the waiting yeggs that the moment to commence their
dangerous harvest had arrived. While Boston Frank had trouble to quiet
the madly plunging, frightened horse, Slippery dove into the store to
emerge again an instant later choking, sneezing and almost blinded just
as if he had dynamited a box loaded with powdered red pepper instead of
a common fireproof safe. Foiled in stealing the contents of the safe,
amid awful curses, he climbed into the buggy and called to Joe to jump
upon its rear, and while they heard all around them loud calls and even
pistol shots of the farmers, who had been aroused out of their
slumbers, Boston Frank turned into the highway leading back to Dixon and
the race for their liberty commenced.

They dashed down the wagon road at top speed, Boston Frank ever urging
the horse on to greater efforts, as in speed lay their only salvation.

Passing the first farm house which fronted upon the wagon road, they
could see by the light cast by a lantern that stood beside him upon the
porch, a man dressed in his night robe raise a revolver and after taking
a careful aim at the approaching buggy, just as they were in line with
him, discharge point blank in quick succession its six messengers of
death into their midst. But Boston Frank did not slacken the pace, on
the contrary he urged the horse to ever greater speed.

Not a word was exchanged by the inmates of the buggy during this race,
and for several miles farther they drove at the utmost speed, then the
horse's terrific gait commenced to slacken, and now that they were
beyond the aroused neighborhood, Boston Frank slowed the horse and
turned in at a road crossing to throw possible pursuers upon a wrong
trail.

Just as they realized how close an escape they had, Slippery keeled over
against Boston Frank and said hoarsely: "Frank, for mercy's sake take me
where I can get a drink of water. The fellow who fired at us from the
first farm house hit his mark, for I am shot." "Slippery, old boy," now
queried Boston Frank, not believing that such a dire calamity had
overtaken them, "you are joking, aren't you?" And then, when Slippery
did not answer, he looked into his pal's