Boy's Cinema (1933)

10 " I'm getting out of here just as soon as I can, and it won't be long now. Hey, Barney, get that file from Jackson and slip it down to me, will you?" The guarded rasp of roughened steel on chain-links lulled Barney to sleep, The dark hours slipped by, and. all too soon for Brownfield, the day broke. But it was a dawn unlike the others, for after the morning meal had been served the convicts were not put to work, and the word went round that they were to be moved far up-State to a town known as Middleton. From a mass of rumours several con- crete facte emerged. Perkins had re- ceived orders from the Governor to take the road with his chain gang with the least possible delay. A deadly epidemic of yellow fever had swept the country- side there, and under the curse of the sickness people were falling faster than they could bury them. The prisoners were to be given the task of digging graves. Ere long teams of powerful horses had been iiitched to the cage-wagons, and soon the cumbersome vehicles were rol- ling through the gateway of the com- pound with their human cargoes. At the head of the column rodo Perkins, an imperious figure in the saddle of a restive pony, bawling out an occasional order. Armed guards occupied the box-seats of each convict-cart, and the rear was brought up by a man in charge of those bloodhounds which Brownfield hated so fiercely, and without which the chain gang never travelled. "Keep 'em moving," roared Ed Perkins to his subordinates. "We've got to reach Middleton bj' to-morrow night." The superintendent's stentorian voice curried to the ears of Barney Slaney and his fellow-prisoners in the last wagon but one. The column creaked forward over the dusty road, leaving the camp behind them. Barney stared out on to dew-drenched fields and lis- tened to the song of a bird, envying that little creature its freedom. The day wore on. and the long, seem- ingly interminable journey proceeded hour by hour. They had left at sunrise, and at midday a brief halt was called while coarse chain gang fare was served out to the famished occupants of the cages—then on again through the heat and the dusl, onward throughout the .sultry afternoon and into the cool of the evening. With the coming of darkness Brown- field craned from his bunk and spoke to Barney. "Ask Jackson for that file again." he slid hoarse!v. "I guess it's safe to use it." Barney held out his hand towards Jackson's bed. and the darkic gave him the steel. "Here, lot me have it. quick.'' Brown- field hissed in a tone of excitement, and Barney passed the file down to him. Brownfield set to work, and Barney relaxed on his bunk. Lost in his own gloomy thoughts he lay gazing at the roof of the jolting cage for some min- utes, and then suddenly he became aware that the man below was address- ing him again. "To-night's the big night." Brown- field told him. "I'm gonna get away, or die. These shackles are nearly cut through. How about yours and Jack- son's,. Slaney ?" Barney and the darkie had not watched Brownfield scraping at his links without making efforts to weaken their own fetters. Night after night they, too, had taken turns to use the file, fo that they might be in readiness for their dreamed-of chance when it transpired. "I guess it wouldn't take much to bust our links." murmured Barney. May 20th, 1933. BOY'S CINEMA "Then why not come with me to- nTght '!" Brownfield urged. " We ought to camp pretty soon, an' that's when I'm going to make my dash." The Irishman shook his head. "No," he said. "No. Jackson and I have been figuring things out. We reckon Middleton is our best bet, and we're going to see what crops up there, it's within reach of the State line, and jf we can only get into Kentucky we're safe, for there's no extradition agree- ment between Kentucky and Tennessee. Listen, Browney, why don't you hold on for another twenty-four hours?" "I'm getting away to-night," was the stubborn rejoinder. "You're only sacrificing yourself," Barney warned. "Don't do it, buddy," Brownfield was adamant. "I'll get those bloodhounds, whatever happens." he growled. "That will make it easier for your break at Middleton. Look, Slaney, I sneaked a knife inside my shirt when we ate last." And he opened his ttinic to reveal a wicked-looking blade. About half an hour later the wagons were brought to a standstill in a remote tract of country covered with dense masses of. brush. The guards opened the doors and the convicts were allowed to shuffle out. Then tin cups wei*- handed round, and the shackled men were formed up in front of a great camp-fire that was being kindled. Iron buckets filled with water were heated o\cr the flames. Greasy coffee was brewed and served out to the pris- oners, and they moved off in small groups to lean against tho wagons and drink the beverage before being ordered into their bunks again. Barney, Jackson and Brownfield formed one of those groups, and at tho first opportunity the last-named dived under the vehicle by which they stood. While the Irishman and the darkie cov- ered his actions by shifting in front of him he filed the end-links of his fetters completely asunder, and, leaving chain and ball behind him. he crawled from the camp, slid into the brush and took to his heels. Barney and Jackson continued to drink their coffee nonchalantly,_ but all too soon one of the guards chanced to come their way. and his vigilant glance marked two men where there had formerly been three. "Hallo." he. snapped. "Brownfield was here a minute ago. Where is he now?" The young Irishman and the negro remained silent. The guard looked down, and clapped eyes on the chain and ball lying between the wheels of the long cage. Next moment he gave vent to a hoarse yell : " Prisoner away I" The cry was taken up on all sides, and armed warders came running. An uproar was raised by the convicts in the hope of diverting pursuit, for they were only too eager to see one of their number escape. But Ed Perkins was equal to the situation, and. detailing the bulk of the guards to herd the prisoners into their cages, he set out from the camp with a handful of men. The party was accompanied by the bloodhounds, and the baying of the dogs rang in the ears of a man who was breasting his way through tall cane- brakes. That man was Brownfield, and as he heard the dreaded tones of liis canine trailers he pushed on with all speed. His flight was vain. The bloodhounds had been released at (he instructions cf Perkins—had (licked up the scent and were bounding through the undergrowth in full cry. Behind them the super- intendent and his colleagues followed as lust they could, and, though Brown- Every Tuesday field might have outstripped the men, he could not keep ahead of the dogs. He heard them draw steadily nearer to him. and he knew that he could not win. He stopped running all at once to spare himself and nerve himself for imminent battle. His brief spell of freedom was at an end—it had been a forlorn bid from the very start—but there was a glint of resolution in his eyes as he drew steel from under his tunic. The bloodhounds sprang into view and leapt at his throat, and the impact of their bodies drove him back into a clump of bushes. A hideous snarling rose about the scene, and part of it was made by the voice of a man who had become half-animal himself, a man who slashed and stabbed with a knife in his blind hatred of the creatures which had attacked him. The sounds of the strife guided Perkins and his men towards the spot, but when they reached the vicinity the grim duel was over and all was quiet. Moving on with levelled rifles the chain gang officers saw two tawny forms lying lifeless amid the twigs and foliage, and the shape of their killer swaying over them—Brownfield, ripped by fangs and covere'd in blood, yet grinning with the exultation of one who had achieved a long-cherished design. The rifles of the guards split the still- ness of the night with a smashing volley, and flame belched from the muzzles of the weapons. Brownfield pitched to the ground, but that grin lingered on his face even in death. The Scourging. ORDER had been restored in the chain gang encampment, but squatting in their bunks the convicts were still chattering in excited tones when Perkins and his companions returned from the chase. Followed by two of his men, the superintendent entered the wagon in which Barney and Jackson were located, and amid the hush that instantly fell he walked forward to the beds occupied by the young Irishman and the darkie. Perkins' face was a study in smoulder- ing rage and malice, and there was a dark, ugly passion in'his voice when he spoke. "Jackson, Slaney," he ground out. "Brownfield killed my bloodhounds before he died. You were his friends. and you covered him when he made his break." The two whom he had addressed offered no reply. The part they had played in the affair was all too obvious, even if they had cared to deny it. "Get them out of here!" Perkins blazed, wheeling towards the guards. "Flog them twelve times each and make them count the strokes." Strong hands seized Barney and the darkie. They were dragged from their bunks and hauled out of the wagon bodily, then marched across to a tree at the edge of a clearing by the road- side. The glow of the camp-fire played on their bare backs as their tunics ami vests were stripped off. Their hand were bound above their heads to the lowest branch of the tree, and a couple of burly warders appeared with thick. heavy straps of leather, six feet in length. "Go ahead—flog them!" ordered Perkins. "And n'ake 'em count each stroke !" The guards lashed at the captives, and the flesh of the captives seemed to leap and start under the strokes. "Count!" roared Perkins.