Part 2

When Derwin returned to the jail and found the boy gone he was not much surprised. He walked slowly to his office and picked up the phone. "Let me speak to the sheriff," he said.... "Gibbons?" ... "This is Derwin, out at White Bear Lake." ... "Fine." ... "The wild boy escaped about an hour ago. He's sprung his cell lock someway." ... "No, I don't know which way he went, but I figured he might head back to St. Paul." ... "O. K." ... "I wish you'd do me a favor. Ask your men--and the police--not to shoot him. I'm sure he won't resist when you arrest him." ... "I know." ... "I know." He sighed. "That's right. You have to do what you think best." He hung up.

* * * * *

The boy went directly from the jail to the railroad tracks, nearly a mile past the depot. He hid in the weeds along the track until a slow freight passed, then climbed into the open door of a boxcar.

The string of freight cars was cut out of the train in the St. Paul yards. The boy stayed inside his car until several hours after dark, when he left his hiding place and went along the Mississippi, past Carlson's Landing, and up to the post office. There he stopped and seemed to be deciding what he should do next.

A half block away a policeman was checking the tires of parked cars. The boy saw him and began walking rapidly in the opposite direction. He hesitated at the street corner, then walked boldly out into the lighted area of the intersection. He had nearly reached the opposite sidewalk when he heard a shout behind him. He began to run. A police whistle sounded shrilly.

* * * * *

When the boy entered the park he appeared to wander casually, with his interest centered on no particular person or place, but his steps took him down a diagonal walk that led to the young mother and the carriage. The child of about six inside the carriage had a large head that wobbled spasmodically above its thin frame.

The boy walked past the mother without attracting her attention, and bent toward the child.

A terrified scream at his side jerked him erect.

"The beast!" The woman screamed with all the power in her lungs. She sprang at the boy, still screaming, and dug clawed fingers into his cheeks. "Get away from him, you beast! You horrible beast!"

Fear blossomed up into the boy's face at the woman's scream. He pushed her aside and glared wildly about him.

The nearest exit from the park was just ahead. Swiftly he put his head down and scurried through the exit. Once in the street he increased his speed and ran for six blocks, past the auditorium, and across Seven Corners, until the breath whistled in his throat. As he staggered to a stop a police siren sounded behind him.

The boy forced his tired legs to move again and sprinted down an alley that opened to his left. Halfway through the alley he heard the screech of tires behind him--and the police siren was at his back. He came to a low fence bordering the alley, between an apartment building and an older, private, home. Without pausing he rested a hand on the fence railing and vaulted over.

Beneath him as he hung suspended he saw a child's large sand box. His right foot, with his weight behind it, landed on the handle of a toy wagon, and his ankle twisted painfully under him. He sprawled forward, ripping the skin of his forearm on the side of the sand box as he fell.

As quickly as he was able he pulled himself to his feet and limped across the yard, past the small house, and out into the street. The police siren still sounded behind him, and now another started up in the block ahead.

He turned to the right and ran with all the speed he could command. A block ahead loomed the Mississippi. With his last remaining strength he stumbled toward it.

A police car arrived just as he dived into the murky water.

Two policemen scrambled from the car and ran toward the river bank. Sergeant Robert Kirk pulled his pistol from its holster as the boy's head reappeared above the water.

"Halt!" he shouted. "Halt or I'll shoot!"

The boy never paused.

Kirk brought the gun up and sighted along the barrel. The boy's head came in line with the small v of the sight. "For the last time, halt!"

The boy's head turned up. His wet blond hair shone in the sunlight. Kirk squeezed the trigger.

Simultaneously with the report, the boy's hair sprang upward in startled protest; his arms gave one reflective jerk, and his face turned toward the sky.

Slowly, slowly, the white features sank beneath the water.

THE END