and calmly proceeded with his work from where he had left off in the morning.
It was as nearly five o'clock as he was able to judge the time by the sun, when he took his wheelbarrow, placed a spade, trowel, rake and hoe in it, went down the driveway to the road and stopped halfway along the outside edge of the hedge. Here, he unloaded his tools and began to busy himself with one of the holes that the children had made in the hedge the previous afternoon. Kingman was just coming up the road from the direction of the creek.
Varge, to all appearances oblivious of the other's approach, worked steadily on, his back turned to the road. Kingman rode slowly by. Varge turned a little now to watch him. Kingman passed the prison, kept on up the road, and presently disappeared from sight behind the rise of a little hill. The average time before he would reappear again coming back and be able to command a view of the road clear to the creek was ten minutes—but twice that morning it had not been ten minutes—well, that was the risk he had to take, it would only mean a dash for it at the end, and instant pursuit instead of an hour's start before he was missed.
Varge dropped the rake from his hand to the ground, deliberately wheeled the 'barrow onto the road and started with it toward the village. He swung along quickly, but without show of haste. It was the very audacity and simplicity of his plan that he counted on for success. They could not see him from the walls; true, it was unusual for a convict to walk down the road, but after the fire of yesterday a little of the unusual might be expected by those he met; everybody
