It was only a minute or two after this that the red-faced man's impatience blossomed into the thirst that will not be denied, and he went into the saloon to get a drink, first putting the cabman on guard.
"Get down here and keep an eye on this dicky-bird," he ordered. "Slug him if he tries to make a break."
"I'm no fightin' man, sorr; an', besides, I don't dare lave me harrses," he objected. But the officer broke in angrily.
"What the devil are you afraid of? He's got the clamps on, and couldn't hurt you if he wanted to. Come down here!"
The little Irishman clambered down from his box reluctantly, with the reins looped over his arm. When he peered in at the open window of the carriage the big man had passed beyond the swinging screens of the saloon entrance and Griswold seized his opportunity quickly.
"What's your job worth, my man?" he whispered.
The cabman snatched a swift glance over his shoulder before he ventured to answer.
"Don't yez be timptin' a poor man wid a wife an' sivin childer hangin' to um--don't yez do it, sorr!"
Griswold, the brother-keeping, would have thought twice before opening any door of temptation for a brother man. But the new Griswold had no compunctions.
"It's two hundred dollars to you if you can get me away from here before that red-faced drunkard comes back. Have a runaway--anything! Here's the money!"
For a single timorous instant the cabman hesitated. Then he took the roll of money and crammed it into his pocket without looking at it. Before Griswold could brace himself there was a quick _whish_ of the whip, a piping cry from the driver, and the horses sprang away at a reckless gallop, with the little Irishman hanging to the reins and shouting feebly like a faint-hearted Automedon.
Griswold caught a passing glimpse of the red-faced man wiping his lips in the doorway of the saloon as the carriage bounded forward; and when the critical instant came, he was careful to fall out on the riverward side of the vehicle. It was a desperate expedient, since he could not wait to choose the favorable moment, and the handcuffs made him practically helpless. Chance saved the clumsy escape from resulting in a speedy recapture. When he tumbled out of the lurching carriage he was hurled violently against something that figured as a wall of solid masonry and was half stunned by the concussion. None the less, he had wit enough to lie motionless in the shadow of the wall, and the hue and cry, augmented by this time to a yelling mob, swept past without discovering him.