Bryan daily eagle and pilot. [volume] (Bryan, Tex.) 1909-1918, 1913-05-27

ing figures on the wharf might be that
of an officer of the law. On shipboard
he was safe, but from the moment he
landed until his departure there was
the haunting possibility that his crime
would find him out, that he would
cease to be Frank Lawrence, honest
man, and again become "Piney" Wha-
ley, the dishonored fugitive. There
were times when it did not trouble
him at all, but there were also times
when it chilled him from head to foot.
These occasions came usually when
he was happiest, when. for the time
being, the memory Of his danger had
been almost obliterated.
He would be seated in the front
room of his home-a three-room cot
tage-which he had rented shortly aft
er his marriage. Dinner would be
over. His wife-the woman whose
unwavering devotion had helped him
most in his long struggle-would be
sitting beside him. Over in one cor
ner, Helen Marie, his daughter, would
be arguing with an imaginary audi
ence some highly portentous problem
of babyhood. Everything would be
part of the new life, the happy and I'M
troubled existence Of Frank Law
renee. There would be a knock at the
door. 1t might be neighbor, II
might be the wind. 1t might be any
thing. but. to the man. it was always
the same. He had been found. In
moment the door would open. A man
would step in-probably Ike Smith,
the constable from Port Washington.
He knew Ike.
Well Piney," Ike would say. Il
guess you'd better come along with
me-" Then-but Whaley never got
past that point. The door would open,
revealing-no one except neighbor.
Whaley would wipe the sweat off his
face, give a harsh, unnatural laugh,
and excuse himself for a moment, say
ing he was going after a drink OF wa
ter. When he found himself alone,' he
would fall into the nearest chair, shak-
ing from head to foot.
The months passed, some swiftly,
some with an awful elaboration, but
all full Of a peace and happiness such
as Charles Whaley had never known
before. The hope, long growing, that
Justice was no longer concerned with
his existence became a conviction.
There was no question about II.
Charles Whaley was dead; Frank
Lawrence could go unhindered on his
vay to redemption. After all, 1t mad
not been such very important affair,
only matter of a broken pane and
some stolen overcoats. Surely the
great state of New York would not
concern itself for long about such an
insignificant occurrence. One man
had served a year in Jail; he himself
| had spent two months there while
awaiting trial. And, above all, he had
turned over new leaf, he was trying
to do the right thing. There would be
no object in sending him to the peni-
Tertiary He was safe.
I'm his reasoning there was one thing
l Whaley forgot: He had escaped. If
he had never been caught jim the first
place all his conclusions might have
been justified. The authorities do not
search overlong for petty offenders
But Charles Whaley had escaped. The
law had held him in its hands, and he
had slipped away. During all his
fancied security the search had been
going on, quietly, Systematically, re-
lentlessly. The Nassau county author.
tiles had traced him through a dozen
steps of his regeneration; then they
had lost the scent. 1t had remained
hidden for a year and half. A ru
NOR had come that he was working
as an oysterman. The authorities had
again taken up the trail They had in,
ouired in every town along the coast
They had not found him, but they were
wide awake. They were still search
ing.
One day there came through Green
mort peddler named William Russell
He had known Whaley in Port Wash.
ington: in fact, Whaley had once
threatened to lick him. Russell saw
Whaley on the street. Whaley did not
see him That night the district at
torney's office in Mineola received d
telephone call 1t was Russell. He
delivered the news,
Whaley had no business being In
Greenport. His schooner had put ou'
ten days before 1t SO happened. how