I crossed the platform boldly, jumped down, and walked away.  But after going fifty feet I dropped down on my hands and knees and crawled back.  Inside of two minutes I was safely stowed away under the platform, in about as neat a hiding-place as a man could ask.  In fact, if I had only had my wits enough about me to borrow a revolver of the man, I could have made a pretty good defence, even if discovered.

Underneath the platform was loose gravel, and, as an additional precaution, I scooped out, close to the side-boarding, a trough long enough for me to lie in.  Then I got into the hole, shovelled the sand over my legs, and piled the rest up in a heap close to me, so that by a few sweeps of my arm I could cover my whole body, leaving only my mouth and nose exposed, and those below the level.  That made me feel pretty safe, for, even if the cowboys found the loose plank and crawled in, it would take uncommon good eyesight, in the darkness, to find me.  I had hollowed out my living grave to fit, and if I could have smoked, I should have been decidedly comfortable.  Sleep I dared not indulge in, and the sequel showed that I was right in not allowing myself that luxury.

I hadn’t much more than comfortably settled myself, and let thoughts of a cigar and a nap flit through my mind, when a row up the street showed that the jail-breaking had been discovered.  Then followed shouts and confusion for a few moments, while a search was being organized.  I heard some horsemen ride over the tracks, and also down the street, followed by the hurried footsteps of half a dozen men.  Some banged at the doors of the specials, while others knocked at the station door.

One of the Cullens’ servants opened the door of 218, and I heard the sheriff’s voice telling him he’d got to search the car.  The darky protested, saying that the “gentmun was all away, and only de miss inside.”  The row brought Miss Cullen to the door, and I heard her ask what was the matter.

“Sorry to trouble yer, miss,” said the sheriff, “but a prisoner has broken jail, and we’ve got to look for him.”

“Escaped!” cried Madge, joyfully.  “How?”

“That’s just what gits away with me,” marvelled the sheriff.  “My idee is—­”

“Don’t waste time on theories,” said Camp’s voice, angrily.  “Search the car.”

“Sorry to discommode a lady,” apologized the sheriff, gallantly, “but if we may just look around a little?”

“My father and brothers went out a few minutes ago,” said Madge, hesitatingly, “and I don’t know if they would be willing.”

Camp laughed angrily, and ordered, “Stand aside, there.”

“Don’t yer worry,” said the sheriff.  “If he’s on the car, he can’t git away.  We’ll send a feller up for Mr. Cullen, while we search Mr. Gordon’s car and the station.”

They set about it at once, and used up ten minutes in the task.  Then I heard Camp say—­

“Come, we can’t wait all night for permission to search this car.  Go ahead.”