relsome people who were
occasionally lodged in it.

But Beigh, _alias_ Bay Billy, _alias_ Handsome, was no ordinary and
vulgar jail-bird, the officers told him, and, that he and they might
sleep securely, they considered it advisable to carefully iron his
hands.

A couple of hours rolled away, and left Beigh still sitting moody and
silent on the single bedstead in the Bowerton jail.

Suddenly the train of his thoughts was interrupted by a low "stt--stt"
from the one little, high, grated window of the jail.

The prisoner looked up quickly, and saw the shadow of a man's head
outside the grating.

"Hello!" whispered Beigh, hurrying under the window.

"Are you alone?" inquired the shadow.

"Yes," replied the prisoner.

"All right, then," whispered the voice. "There _are_ secrets which no
vulgar ears should hear. My name is Guzzy. I have been in love with your
wife. I hadn't any idea she was married; but I've brought you my
apology."

"I'll forgive you," whispered the criminal; "but--"

"'Tain't that kind of apology," whispered Guzzy. "It's a steel one--a
tool--one of those things that gunsmiths shorten gun-barrels with. If
they can saw a rifle-barrel in two in five minutes, you ought to get out
of here inside of an hour."

"Not quite," whispered Beigh. "My hands and feet are ironed."

"Then I'll do the job myself," whispered Guzzy, as he applied the tool
to one of the bars; "for it will be daylight within two hours."

The unaccustomed labor--for Guzzy was a bookkeeper--made his arms ache
severely, but still he sawed away.

He wondered what his employer would say should he be found out, but
still he sawed.

Visions of the uplifted hands and horror-struck countenances of his
brother Church-members came before his eyes, and the effect of his
example upon his Sunday-school class, should he be discovered, tormented
his soul; but neither of these influences affected his saw.

Bar after bar disappeared, and when Guzzy finally stopped to rest, Beigh
saw a small square of black sky, unobstructed by any bars whatever.

"Now," whispered Guzzy, "I'll drop in a small box you can stand on, so
you can put your hands out and let me file off your irons. I brought a
file or two, thinking they might come handy."

Five minutes later the convict, his hands unbound, crawled through the
window, and was helped to the ground by Guzzy.

[Illustration]

Seizing the file from the little bookkeeper, Beigh commenced freeing his