The Red Book Magazine/Volume 14/Number 5/An Even Break

HE clock wheezed, gasped eight times and subsided with a gurgle.

“That's a funny thing,” remarked Tutweiler. “The clock strikes eight but looks like half-past seven. Which is right, Napoleon, the gong or the hands?”

“Neither of 'em,” said Napoleon, driving the last screw in a plate that held a push-button against the wall. “When the clock strikes eight and looks like half-past seven it's a quarter to nine.”

He laid the screw-driver on a scrap-book which served for a “rogues' gallery” and lowered himself into a chair.

“High time Backus and this party from McLean blew in. Aint you plumb tired waitin' for 'em?”

Tutweiler's entranced eyes were held by the clock. Incidentally, his mind was dealing with the problem for getting at the correct time.

“Why don't you fix it, Napoleon?” he inquired. “They say you've a knack for inventing things. Couldn't you make that clock tell the simple truth if you tried?”

“Not for nothing I aint called 'Napoleon,'” replied the turnkey, ruffling his red hair with one hand and half-closing his left eye. “When the old man makes up his mind to take me serious, there's a lot of things I'll do to make this a model institution. But he don't. He kicked the model of my improved penitentiary out of the jail office, and everybody knows how he smashed my patent gallows and used it for kindlin'.”

Napoleon scowled and bent over to roll the cannon-ball at the cat.

“Backus,” he added wrathfully, “can't appreciate genius no more'n a Feejee. If anybody else but me had flashed that improved 'pen' on him, or that gallows with the patent trap, he'd have tumbled all over himself to get 'em protected at Washington for an interest.”

“There's a rival inventor in the jail, I hear,” said Tutweiler tentatively, and with an air of subdued caution.

“That's what I hear myself,” scoffed Napoleon, “but I aint seen nothing he's invented. You're referrin' to Hiram Yep, the horse-thief in Cell Three?”

Tutweiler nodded.

“What's he thought up?” Napoleon asked.

“I'm a good deal in the dark about it,” hedged Tutweiler.

He had been pledged to secrecy and felt that he had gone too far.

The door opened at that moment and Backus, sheriff of Wells, appeared ushering the tall, angular figure of Hokeberry, sheriff of McLean. Backus carried a box under his arm.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he apologized to the sheriff of Bottineau. “The train was late and this box didn't get in from Jimtown till pretty near nine.”

“Don't fret about that, Backus,” said Tutweiler amiably. “Napoleon puts up a line of talk that's mighty entertaining.”

“Nap's full of various kinds of hot-air,” frowned the sheriff of Wells, “and he's got a way of meddling that gets on my nerves,

“You're excused for now, Napoleon,” he finished, waving the turnkey toward the open door.

“Why?” demanded Napoleon.

“Us three sheriffs are going into executive session on matters appertaining to the peace and welfare of our respective counties,” explained Backus.

“You're the doctor,” muttered Napoleon. “I'll wind up the cat and put the clock out and then you can go on with your star-chamber proceedin's.”

“He's a case,” grinned Hokeberry.

“He's a trial, that's what he is,” grunted Backus, placing the box on the table.

The box was seven inches square, tightly corded, the knots sealed, and bore a tag inscribed:

There was a knowing smile on Napoleon's face as he wound the clock but the smile had faded when he turned, rolled the cannon-ball to its place beside the door and took the cat under his arm.

“Don't go to bed, Napoleon,” said Backus; “take a chair in the corridor for a while. I'll need you, I guess.”

Napoleon went out, grumbling and boxing the cat's ears.

“Help yourself to a chair, Hoke,” proceeded Backus, turning a key in the door.

Coming back to the table, he seated himself beside it and laid a caressing hand on the box.

“You know pretty well what this round-up means, don't you?” he asked.

“I'm wise to this much,” returned Hokeberry, twisting his long extremities around the legs of his chair and slouching forward with his elbows on the chair-arms: “We've come together to examine into these inventions of Yep's, and, if they stand investigation, to put through the patents for our own use and benefit.”

“Don't be so brutally frank,” urged Tutweiler. “What good would the patents ever do Yep? He'll go over the road for fifteen or twenty years, being an old offender, and if we don't acquire the use and benefit of his inventions, who will? No one owns him for a relative.”

“Quite so, quite so,” approved Backus. “And here's another point, gentlemen. McLean, Wells, and Bottineau counties have been the scene of Yep's depredations for years. The trouble we've had with him ought to be worth something, hadn't it?”

“It had,” declared Hokeberry. “But I'm not going to take any stock in these inventions till I try 'em for myself.”

“That's how I feel,” spoke up Tutweiler, “even if we are getting something for almost nothing.”

“I stack up similar,” said Backus, “I haven't seen these inventions myself, but I've talked about 'em with Yep, and I tell you they have their good points. I had Yep send to Jimtown after three outfits, and I propose to have Napoleon bring the prisoner up here so he can give us a demonstration. If either of us can slip the cuffs, or wriggle out of the ankle-irons, or make a noise behind the gag, then the deal's off.”

“What's the improvements Yep has worked out?” asked Hokeberry.

“Well, they'll hold a man like grim death, and they're collapsible, and so light a sheriff can carry a dozen sets and not feel 'em in his clothes.”

“That's what Yep says,” commented Tutweiler. “What'll it cost to put the patents through?”

“A hundred and fifty 'll do the whole thing.”

“And Yep aint to get a soo?” asked Hokeberry.

Backus coughed. “Yep, gentlemen,” said he, “is the most un-so-phis-ti-cat-ed man for a horse-thief you most ever saw. He says that all he wants is to interest a few shinin' lights of law and order, and he bats the whole proposition up to us. He hasn't even filed a caveat. After Yep shows us how the thing works, why, we can do as we please with 'em.”

“Well, bring the prisoner up, Backus,” suggested Hokeberry, 'and let's have a look at what he's got.”

The sheriff of Wells stepped to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

“Napoleon,” he called, “go to Cell Three and bring Yep. Leave the come-alongs on him and don't forget to take the office gun.”

Yep, a wiry man with a shrewd black eye and a face that suggested character of a sort, was presently towed into the office by the turnkey. Napoleon carried a large revolver in his left hand and had s right arm thrust through the prisoner's.

“What's up, Backus?” Napoleon inquired. “You aint goin' to look over any inventions of Yep's when you wouldn't pay any attention to my Patent Shotgun Protector and—”

“You're to look on and keep watch of prisoner,” cut in Backus sharply. “You've been foolin' away your time on patent 'pens' and scaffolds and shotgun protectors, and now you'll have a chance, I guess, to see something that's worth while.”

“Yep,” and the sheriff of Wells turned to the prisoner, “you've met Tutweiler and Hokeberry in their official capacities, so there's no need of introductions.”

“I've had a knock-down to both gents,” answered Yep pleasantly. “Span o' grays, it was, in McLean, if I remember right, and a whole bunch of bronks in Botineau.”

“Let that pass,” interposed Backus. “I've interested Tutweiler and Hokeberry in your inventions and they're here by my invitation. They're willin' to test the things out and tell you whether they come up to specifications.”

“I've had enough experience with manacles,” observed Yep, “to know where the old kinds are weak and can be improved. This here is the age of progress, and I've done what I could to help out the cause of right and justice. Gents, I'm a repentant man. I've been careless with the law, and by inventing the things in that box I hope I've done a little something towards squaring myself.”

The sheriff of Wells winked at the sheriff of Bottineau; with much gravity, the sheriff of Wells turned to Napoleon.

“Take the cuffs off his wrists, Napoleon,” he ordered, “and pull your chair in front of the door, keepin' the gun where it's convenient for use.”

The steel bracelets were removed and Yep stretched his arms above his head in a spasm of luxurious relief. Napoleon, seated in front of the closed door, revolver on his knees, awaited developments with intense interest.

“Considering my repentant state,” said Yep, advancing upon the table and the box, “I maintain that it's dead wrong to keep me in irons when the cell door's locked.”

“I'm not taking any chances with a man like you,” answered Backus.

A covert smile played around the prisoner's lips, but he did not pursue that particular line of argument any further.

“The small inventions to which I am about to invite your attention,” said he, after the cord was removed from the box and the cover taken off, “are the fruit of many years' study and expeeriment [sic]. I have evolved wrist- and ankle-irons that are of feather-weight heft, but stronger than bands of brass; they're keyless and, after they're on, can only be removed by manipulating three little knobs, same as you open a cash-drawer; and they're non-slippable, automatically fitting each and every wrist they're put on, likewise each and every ankle. The gags—well, I'll let them speak for themselves.”

He produced a pair of handcuffs and ankle-irons and tossed them to Hokeberry, then yielded another outfit to Tutweiler and a third to Backus.

The sheriffs examined the “irons” critically. “Mebby they're the goods and mebby they aint,” said Hokeberry. “Can't tell till I try 'em.”

“Allow me,” said Backus, stepping forward.

In a minute he had the steel contrivances upon the arm and legs of the sheriff of McLean, and that angular gentleman was struggling to get the gyves off his bony wrists. Tutweiler and Backus enjoyed his contortions, the office ringing with their mirth.

“I'll bet a blue stack I can come nearer getting them off than you can, Hoke,” sputtered Tutweiler.

“I never see things grab so,” panted Hokeberry, red and perspiring. “Why don't you try 'em then, if you're so smart?”

Tutweiler stretched forth his hands and pushed out his legs.

Backus accommodated him, and presently the sheriff of Bottineau was also squirming.

“Why don't you slip the cuffs?” taunted Hokeberry. “You're not making any more headway than what I am.”

“Thunder!” exclaimed Tutweiler, “I fell [sic] like I was anchored to the rock of Gibraltar. They're some on the hold, these things. But I'm thin, and so is Hoke. You're stouter than either of us, Backus, and maybe they wont work so well on a fat man.”

“Somethin' in that,” assented Hokeberry. “Thieves aint all hideracks, like me, or attenuated speciments like Tutweiler.”

“We'll see,” glowed Backus, carried away by the novel exhibition. “Yep,” he went on to the prisoner, “I've put the irons on you, once or twice, now you put 'em on me.”

“The pleasure is mine,” smiled Yep, carrying out the request with alacrity.

The three sheriffs were soon twisting and struggling to their own great diversion and to the growing joy of Napoleon.

“These haven't been tried yet, gents,” said the prisoner jovially, taking the gags from the box. “A gag, of course, is not always a prime necessity, but I think you would oftentimes find it a help in performing your official duties.”

“By all means,” cried Tutweiler joyously, “let's have on the gags!”

“Make the show complete, neighbor,” seconded Hokeberry, choking with merriment.

“Let's have all the trimmings,” exploded Backus. “What a picture we must make! Three officers of the law, gagged and manacled by a horse-thief!”

The sheriff of Wells leaned back against the wheel of the iron letter-press and fairly roared. Tutweiler and Hokeberry were certainly being convinced of these inventions of Yep's, and Yep, the unsophisticated, of course had not the least notion of the idea of appropriation which lay at the back of the sheriffs' heads.

This secret thought contributed mightily to the officials' fun.

Deftly Hiram Yep applied the gags. Hardly were they in place, however, when the slow horror of being mute as well as helpless rolled over Backus, Tutweiler, and Hokeberry. They had gone one step too far.

The sheriff of Wells endeavored to make it known that he and his confrères were to be released, but not a sound escaped from behind the gag. His eyes bulged in their sockets, and he stretched out his gyved hands in a gesture that implored relief.

But the real blow was yet to fall.

Yep turned to Napoleon.

“How's that?” he asked.

“Fine!” cried Napoleon enthusiastically, getting up from his chair.

The sheriffs stared, rolled their eyes and began feverishly to wonder—about many things. Perhaps suspicion also was borne in upon their careless minds, the situation being fraught with so many possibilities.

“Backus,” said Napoleon triumphantly, “this is one on you. Here I've been for years, workin' as turnkey for you and inventin' things that you wouldn't have nothin' to do with and didn't think amounted to shucks. You never took me serious, you know you didn't. If I tried any improvements on this old jail, I had to sneak around and make 'em unbeknownst to you. Well, I guess all that will be changed from now on.

“The wrist- and ankle-irons that's holdin' you was invented by me—me, you understand, and not by Yep. That gag's a little thing of my own, too. I didn't come to you when I'd worked 'em out, did I? You can gamble I didn't. I knowed you'd treat 'em like you done the improved 'pen' and the patent gallows. I fixed this up with Yep, and he agreed to purtend the inventions was his, and to ask you to let him give a demonstration. He said he had three sets of manacles and gags in Jimtown. He didn't. They was mine, and they was in the hands of the machinist who made 'em for me. I wrote down and had the machinist send 'em on, addressed to Yep. Say, I guess the inventions are all right, aint they? I've convinced you, haven't I, that they'll do the work? You wont go up in the air, will you, when I tell you I've tampered with the clock and installed my shotgun protector in this jail while you was away on duty? If you're willin' to back me in puttin' these inventions on the market, nod. Will you nod, or—”

Napoleon, in the joy of the moment and the intensity of his desire to convince Backus that he was a genius to be reckoned with, did not pay as much attention to Yep as he should have done. Backus, Tutweiler, and Hokeberry noticed this lack of attention, and were alarmed over it, but it was impossible for them to warn the turnkey. Their thoughts, at best, were chaotic, for helplessness like theirs was extremely demoralizing.

Yep, pursuing a dark and nefarious design of his own, had edged around to the vicinity of the cannon-ball. That solid shot relic of Sibley's campaign against the Sioux, and Backus cherished it for its associations and used it to prop the door open on warm, windy days. Now for the execution of his fell purpose, Hiram Yep made other use of the cannon-ball.

He gave it a slight push with his feet, and then a mighty shove. The rolling ball collided with Napoleon's feet and he crumpled against the letter-press, dropping the office gun.

Yep moved like lightning. Before the horrified eyes of the sheriffs, he held Napoleon against the press and twisted the cuffs taken from his own wrists about the wrists of Napoleon. When he had finished, the two links connecting the bracelets were woven through the wheel of the letter-press, and the turnkey was more securely rooted to the spot than he would have been with ball and chain.

Despair clutched at the heart of the sheriff of Wells. He struggled erect on his pinioned legs, then tumbled headlong against the sheriff of Bottineau. Tutweiler's chair overturned, and the prostrate sheriffs glared into each other's eyes and breathed hard.

“Gentlemen,” said Yep agreeably, possessing himself of the office gun, “I must be going. Hereafter, Backus, I would suggest that you take your turnkey seriously. I did, and look at the benefits that have come my way. Early to-morrow I shall have transferred myself to Manitoba, so it wont do you any good to follow my trail. Farewell, a long farewell.”

He opened the door and went out. Those in the office heard his retreating footsteps die away in silence. Napoleon, leaning heavily on the letter-press, lifted one foot and touched the push-button he had that evening made fast to the wall.

At once an inferno of sound rang through the lower part of the jail. Gongs set up a wild tocsin and a bell pealed. The hubbub was broken in upon by the sudden report of a firearm. Napoleon leaned upon the iron wheel to which he was chained and blandly surveyed the astounded sheriffs. A human cry had followed the incisive note of the gun and had added to the pandemonium.

“I guess it's an even break, Backus,” observed Napoleon. “My shotgun protector and automatic alarm has got in its work. The clock and an electric battery do the business. The minute I kicked that push-button, every board from the foot of the stairs to the outside door was arranged to trip the trigger. The gun was aimed low, and Yep has only suffered a temporary inconvenience about the shins that'll keep him from usin' his feet. Purty nigh the whole town'll be here inside o' sixty seconds, and I guess Yep can wait as long for a doctor as we can for a blacksmith. That's what ailed the clock, Tutweiler, only I wasn't aimin' to tell you when you asked.”

At that moment the clock struck ten while the hands indicated half-past nine; and Tutweiler, just to pass the time and soothe his conflicting emotions, tried to figure out the correct hour.