CHAPTER NINE

                 I was jolted awake by a sudden noise and as my senses gathered, I realized that the sound which roused me was someone snoring. I turned my head slowly to where I could see the sheriff. His head was leaned back against the door and flopped over to one side as if his neck was broken. His mouth hung open and a trail of saliva trickled from the lower corner and onto his shirt. His right hand was still clutching the stock of the shotgun but the barrel had slipped off his lap and the end of it was resting on the floor. He would snore lightly a few times and then jerk and give a loud snort. I wondered what time it was but Melvin had my watch. I had a travel alarm clock in my shaving kit, but it was in my backpack on the table. My bladder was full so I got up quietly to use the toilet.

                 As I stood there relieving myself, there was a loud pounding on the door. The sheriff leaped to his feet and as his sleep-filled eyes focused on me standing in the cell, he jerked the shotgun around toward me. "Don't you move, you bastard, or I'll blow you in two," he shouted.

                 Before I could answer, a voice came from outside the door, "Sheriff! Sheriff Nester! You in there?"

                 The sheriff lowered the shotgun, moved the chair aside and opened the door. A man thrust his head inside and said, "Thank God I found you, Sheriff. I been looking all over for you and finally woke up Melvin and he told me that you were down here guarding a prisoner. You got to get out to the Bradley place, there's been a shooting and old man Bradley is dead. They think his hired hand did it."

                 The sheriff looked at me and hesitated a minute. The man continued, "You better hurry, The guy who shot him is holed up in the barn and he's taking pot shots at anyone who sticks their head up."

                 The sheriff grabbed his hat and said to me, "You'd better be here when I get back if you know what's good for you."

                 "How could I go anywhere?"

                 I listened as the sheriff and the other man went out the door of the basement and let it slam shut behind them. In his anger at my near escape, the sheriff had forgotten to take anything away from me except my backpack and I couldn't remember his ever removing the cell keys from the desk drawer where he threw them. The desk was a good three feet from the bars of the cell and I had nothing which I could use to reach the drawer. If only I could pull the desk closer.

                 I pulled off my belt and on the back side of the buckle was a small hook which fastened into the holes in the belt. I stuck my arm between the bars and swung the buckle at the desk. It clanked down on the top and slid off the smooth surface. There was nothing for it to catch on. I tried a swinging motion to see if I could make the buckle go into one of the pigeon holes but it would simply bounce out. I pulled the cot aside so I could work from floor level and try to catch one of the legs of the desk. Perhaps once out of every twenty tries, the buckle would stand on edge and once out of perhaps every ten times that happened, the hook would snag the square leg. The only problem was that I had to pull at an angle and as I did so, it would slip off. I have no idea how long I tried, but it seemed as if I swung the belt a thousand times with no success.

                 I was really getting discouraged when I stood up to see if I could figure out any other possible way which I could snag the desk and pull it to me. I stood there looking at the cigarette burns along the edge of the desk when I noticed a small brass plate attached with two screws. It was midway of the top surface of the desk and about two inches back from the front edge. It didn't occur to me what it was for until I looked at the roll top of the desk and saw the lock mechanism sticking out of the lower rail. It was the locking plate and in the center was a small, spring-loaded cover which snapped shut when the top was rolled back. Perhaps I could catch the hook on my buckle in that hole.

                 I put my arm between the bars and swung the buckle at the top of the desk. It took me several tries before I got the right swing and distance to the hole. It was barely within my reach and if the hook did snag the opening, I would be able to pull only with one hand. As a safety measure in case that the belt should slip out of my hand, I took the laces out of one of my shoes, ran them through the end hole in the belt and tied the ends to my wrist. I was now able to swing the belt with one hand while holding onto the shoelace with the other.

                 I have no idea how man times I swung and dropped the buckle onto the desk, only to have it bounce off. I was about to give up the idea when suddenly, it hit in just the right spot and the hook dropped into the hole. I pulled lightly on the belt and could see that the hook on the back of the buckle was firmly engaged in the slot.

                 Using extreme care to keep the hook from coming loose, I tugged on the belt but the desk refused to move. With one hand on the belt and the other grasping the shoelace, I pulled harder; but instead of sliding toward me, the desk began to tilt up on its front two legs. If I pulled any harder, the desk would have tipped over onto the floor. I slowly allowed the desk to return to its original position, being careful not to lose my grip on the belt or the shoestring. If I ever dropped it, I would never be able to reach it again. I was glad that I had tied the shoestring to the belt so I could hang onto it with both hands. The only result of pulling at that angle would be that the desk would tip over with the drawers against the floor. If that happened, I would never be able to get at the keys.

                 I moved along the bars, passing the end of the belt and shoestrings from one hand to the other until I was in a position which would allow me to pull the desk endwise toward the bars. I tugged on the belt but nothing happened, the heavy desk remained where it was. I shifted around to where I could get both arms between the bars but I still couldn't reach the end of the belt with both hands. I held onto the belt with one hand and grabbed the loop of the shoelaces with the other. I tugged with all my strength, the desk gave a protesting scrape and moved a few inches toward me. I could now grasp the belt with both hands and gave it another pull, three more inches. A few more tugs and I was able to reach the end of the desk and pull it next to the bars.

                 The keys were in the top drawer at the opposite end of the desk and it would have to be rotated toward the bars in order for me to reach them. I pulled on the front of the desk with one hand while pushing at the back with the other. It took every ounce of my strength to make the heavy desk budge even an inch and within a few minutes, I was soaked with sweat. I wiped the sweat off my face with my handkerchief and dropped it on the bed. I had to get the desk turned to where I could reach the drawer with the keys before the sheriff returned so I kept tugging and pushing with all my might.

                 Inch by inch the desk swung around until I was finally able to reach the pull on the drawer with one finger and work it open. I tried to pull the drawer all the way out but it had some sort of catch which allowed it to open only about half of its length. I groped around in the drawer and my fingers touched cold metal. It was Melvin's pistol. I felt around some more and found his badge. Had the sheriff taken the keys from the drawer while I was asleep?

                 I stood up to where I could see down into the drawer and there were the keys, but when the sheriff threw them in, they had bounced all the way to the very back. I reached as far into the drawer as the bars would allow but the keys were still just out of my reach. I looked around for something which I could use to drag the keys toward me and finally it dawned on me that it was right in front of my eyes, Melvin's pistol. Using the front sight as a hook, I had the keys in my hand within seconds.

                 Since I could not see the key slot and there were three almost identical keys on the ring, it took a bit of fumbling to get the correct one inserted and turn to unlock the door. The door bumped against the desk, but after closing the drawer, I was able to squeeze out. My first thought was to get out of that place as quickly as possible but decided that I might be able to buy some time by making the sheriff wonder just how I had escaped.

                 I shoved the desk back to where it had been, locked the cell door and replaced the keys in the drawer. I shouldered my backpack, picked up Melvin's pistol and shoved it in my belt. As I reached for the door knob, I stopped to consider whether it would be wise to take the pistol with me or not. By taking the gun with me, I would automatically be considered as armed and dangerous. In light of what the sheriff had said about shooting jail escapees and especially if he knew that I was carrying a gun, he would probably start shooting at me on sight. I put the pistol back into the drawer and closed it.

                 I slipped out into the quiet hall and closed the door to the office behind me. I went to the door which we had entered when the sheriff brought me in, but just as I opened it, I heard cars driving up and saw headlights flashing across the wall above me as they pulled in to park in front of the court house. I heard car doors slam and shouting voices. With this escape route cut off, I had to find another one and in a hurry. I ran back into the basement of the court house.

                 The hall that I was in ran from under the stairs at the front of the building to a matching pair of large gray doors at the back. Figuring that this must lead to the back of the court house, I ran to them but they were locked. An intersecting hall led off in either direction. There were several closed doors on either side of each hall. As I frantically looked for another way out of the basement, I could hear voices approaching the front doors. Just around the corner from the room where I had been held was a green steel door. I turned the knob and it swung open. It was an elevator and that would be my escape route to a higher floor. Once out of the basement and the approaching sheriff, I could find a way to get out of the building. I stepped in and closed the door. There were only two black buttons on the control panel, one was marked BASEMENT and the other JAIL. Then it dawned on me that the only purpose of this elevator was to transport prisoners between the basement and jail on the top floor without having to go through the public part of the courthouse. If I pushed that top button, my next stop would be inside the jail upstairs.

                 I opened the door an inch and listened to the voices in the hall around the corner from me. There was a lot of shouting and scuffling of feet as if a struggle of some sort was going on. Directly across the hall was a gray steel door so I bolted for it. The knob turned easily, the door swung open and I leaped inside. I realized that I was now in the utility and boiler room of the court house. The room contained a huge boiler, along with the usual maintenance and janitorial equipment which one would expect find in such a place. It smelled of disinfectant, soap and floor wax.

                 There were only two doors in the room, other than the one which I had entered, so I tried them. One opened into a room which contained the electrical switches and fuses for the building, while the other was a storage closet filled with soap, toilet paper and large cans of floor wax. It also contained several brooms and mops, as well as a pile of rags. I didn't see anything that might be useful in my escape.

                 There wasn't even a window in the place and there seemed to be no other way out other than the door through which I had entered. In order to give myself a little more time in the event that the sheriff began a search of the building for me, I turned the knob which locked door to the boiler room.

                 I walked around the room, searching for some place where I could hide in case the sheriff should come in. Behind the boiler were the walls of an old coal bin which was used during the days before natural gas was piped in. There was no coal in the bin but anchored to the back wall was a steel ladder leading up to a square steel door about two feet across. It was obviously the chute where coal was dumped into the bin and was bound to open to the outside of the building. I climbed the ladder and tugged on the lever which operated the locking mechanism. With a considerable amount of scraping and grinding, the rusty lever moved and the door creaked open. I silently thanked the architect who designed the coal chute into the basement.

                 I took a deep breath of the fresh moist air and climbed through the opening. I felt around in the darkness and my hand ran over a large tire of some sort. I pulled the steel door shut behind me and carefully stood up. As my eyes became accustomed to the shadowy darkness, I could see that the tire was part of a huge road grader parked next to the building. There was also a couple dump trucks, a cement mixer and several other pieces of heavy equipment around me. I took a few steps, tripped and fell face forward onto a pile of gravel. Obviously, the county used the area behind the courthouse to store road construction materials and equipment.

                 I looked up and saw that the windows of the entire third floor of the courthouse were ablaze with lights and I could hear loud voices coming from that direction. More cars could be heard arriving at the front of the building. From the sounds of all the commotion, everyone seemed to be far more interested in the capture of the murderer than my escape. Perhaps in all the uproar, the sheriff had taken the prisoner directly to the main jail on top floor and hadn't even discovered that I was missing.

                 Staying in the shadows of the road construction equipment, I worked my way toward the water tower at the back of the lot. When I reached the tower, I found that route of escape blocked by a six-foot chain link fence, topped with angle arms supporting three strands of barbed wire. They were angled to the outside to prevent anyone from climbing over the fence to get inside. They would also be nearly as effective in keeping anyone from climbing over from the inside to get out. I felt my way along the fence until I came to a large gate which was secured with a chain and a lock. I had escaped from the jail cell and then from the building, only to find myself still locked inside this yard.

                 I retraced my steps along the fence to the water tower. A steel ladder ran up one of the legs but it offered no escape route because it was set a good ten feet back from the fence. I continued along the fence to where it ended against the building. Almost as if someone had anticipated my need to escape from the yard, none of the heavy equipment had been parked close enough to allow it to used to scale the fence.

                 If there was no easy way to get out of this yard, then I would resort to force; I'd use one of the dump trucks to crash through the gate. I climbed into the cab of one of the trucks and felt around for the keys, but they were missing. The same was true for the other one. I was considering the possibility of getting the diesel engine started on the road grader when I noticed a stack of pierced steel planking of the type which had been used during the war to build emergency landing strips. We had put down miles of the same stuff building emergency strips in Korea. Each panel was about eighteen inches wide and ten feet long. There was a row of hooks along one edge and matching slots on the other to allow the panels to be locked together to form a stable landing surface. Three rows of round holes had been punched into each panel to give better traction for the airplanes.

                 By leaning one of the steel panels against the fence, I would be able to climb to the top where I could drop to the ground on the outside. I grabbed the end of the top panel on the stack and lifted, but it was a lot heavier than I had remembered. It took all of my strength to drag the panel to the fence and hoist one end up onto the angled barbed wire.

                 By sticking the toes of my shoes into the holes, I was able to use it like a ladder and climb right to the top. The only problem once that I got there was that the ground was some seven feet below me. Even when I was sixteen years old, a seven foot drop to hard ground would have been something to consider, but now that I was nearing sixty, I might as well have been taking a leap from the top of the courthouse.

                 I was standing at the top of the plank, balancing myself against the side of the courthouse when the decision was made for me. I heard a something which sounded like an air raid siren atop the court house. It began as a deep moan and then slowly increased in both volume and pitch until its wail could be heard for several miles. Evidently the sheriff had discovered that I was missing and had turned the thing on to signal the whole town of my escape. I tossed my backpack to the ground, sat down on the end of the plank, closed my eyes and dropped into the darkness.

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