having, however, got a promise from the Duke
of Newcastle for payment of one hundred pounds
for the apprehension of Turpin or any of his
colleagues, the thieves began to grow more wary.
One night, as Turpin and three others were
carousing in an alehouse in an alley at
Westminster, the constables burst in and seized
three of the robbers, but Turpin leaped through
a window and escaped. These three men were
eventually hung in chains very soon after.

Turpin, finding that nearly all his old friends
were given to the crows, now set off for
Cambridgeshire. On his way, he stopped a well-
dressed man and threatened to blow out his
brains because he bantered him, and was not
quick enough in handing out his purse.

"What! dog eat dog?" said the man. "If
you don't know me better, Mr. Turpin, I know
you, and shall be glad of your company."

It proved to be King, a notorious highwayman,
who at once entered into partnership with
Turpin in all his robberies. As no landlord,
however rascally, would now entertain these
rough-riders, the two men dug a cave, hidden by
brambles, hazels, and thorns, near the high road
between King's Oak and Laughton road. The
cave, large enough to hold both them and their
horses, was well situated for reconnoitring.
Turpin's wife supplied them with food.

They one night stopped a Mr. Bradele, and
their treatment of him is characteristic of
highwaymen's etiquette. Mr. Bradele gave up his
money readily, but was loth to part with his
watch, till his little girl cried, and begged him
to surrender it. King then insisted on having
an old valueless mourning-ring, but seeing Mr.
Bradele prized it, he said he and his pal were too
much of gentlemen to deprive him of anything
he valued so much. Mr. Bradele then offered
to leave six guineas at the bar of the Dial, in
Birchin-lane, and to ask no questions, if he
might keep his watch and his ring. King
accepted the offer.

Soon after this a servant of Mr. Thompson,
the park-keeper, and a daring higgler set out to
trap Turpin in his cave. Turpin took them for
poachers, till the servant presented his gun, and
called on the highwayman to surrender. Turpin
gradually retreated to his cave, took up his
loaded carbine, and shot the too-venturous
servant dead. The other then ran off. Turpin soon
after was nearly surprised at an inn at Hertford,
and then made for London, through the forest.
Finding his horse tire, he stopped Mr. Major,
owner of the famous racer, White Stockings,
changed horses, and dashed off to London. Mr.
Major confiding his loss to Mr. Boys, landlord
of the Green Man at Epping, Mr. Boys took it
very much to heart, and devoted his time to
discovering Turpin's lair. He at last found Mr.
Major's horse at the Red Lion Inn, in
Whitechapel.  He seized the man who came to fetch
it, who proved to be King's brother, and who
confessed that a tall lusty man in a white duffel
coat was then waiting for it in Red Lion-street.
Mr. Boys going out, and seeing it was King,
the highwayman, instantly attacked him. King
drew a pistol and flashed it at Boys's breast,
but it missed fire, and his second pistol got
entangled in his pocket. Just then Turpin dashed
up, and King shouted:

"Dick, shoot him, or we're taken, by——"

Turpin instantly fired, missed Mr. Boys and
shot his friend, who died a few days afterwards.
King taxed Turpin with cowardice and
treachery, and betrayed his haunt in Hackney-
marsh to Mr. Boys; but advised him to be
cautious, as Turpin usually carried three brace
of pistols, and had a carbine slung at his back.

Turpin's haunts being now known, the not very
chivalrous scoundrel stole off to Lincolnshire,
where he lived by sheep and horse stealing, and
by raids into Yorkshire, hiding at Machet Cave,
North Cave, and Welton, and often riding back
to Long Sutton, Lincolnshire, with a string of
stolen horses, which he sold, without exciting
much suspicion. Our most romantic reader will
have observed the utter want of true courage
and gallantry in this man's whole career. Never
fighting against odds or in fair combat, always
intent on the guineas, and taking care to be
superior in force to the traveller he stopped,
cruel to unarmed farmers, he was a mere
mounted thief, and nothing else. In the first
real dangerous scuffle he loses his head, and
shoots his old companion, either by treachery or
mistake. Burglar, sheep-stealer, horse-stealer,
smuggler, his hands were now red with murder,
and the whole country was up against him. No
more revels in Westminster lanes, Blood Bowl-
alley, or Thieving-lane; no more selling plate
to Jew receivers. The thief-takers were on his
heels.

Turpin's blustering insolence and cruelty led
at last to his betrayal. Returning one day from
shooting at Long Sutton, he wantonly and in
cold blood shot one of his neighbour's fowls,
and threatened to blow out the brains of a
friend who remonstrated. He was instantly
apprehended, at once discovered to be the famous
horse-stealer and highwayman, and was sent off
in chains to York Castle. The farmers crowded
to the prison to identify their ruthless spoiler,
and he became one of the shows of the ancient
city. Nothing, however, daunted him; he spent
his time joking, drinking, and telling stories, and
was "as jovial, merry, and frolicsome, as if he
was quite at liberty and insured for a good
hundred years of life." He scoffed at the chaplain
and expressed no remorse for any of his
thousand and one villanies.

His vanity was chiefly busy in preparing for
the last scene, and he bought a new fustian
frock and a pair of pumps to take his leave of
the world respectably. The morning before
his execution he gave three pounds ten shillings
among five men, who were to follow the cart as
mourners, and to purchase black hatbands and
gloves for several more. He also left a gold ring
and two pairs of shoes to one of his mistresses,
who lived at Brough. John Stead, a horse-
stealer, was his companion in the cart; but all
eyes were turned on Turpin as he bowed to
the ladies, and waved his cocked-hat with the