e picked up a job easily enough if he had been willing to lie
about his past. But he had made up his mind to tell the truth. In the
long run he could not conceal it. Better start with the slate clean.

When he got a job it was to unload cars of fruit for a commission house.
A man was wanted in a hurry and the employer did not ask any questions.
At the end of an hour he was satisfied.

"Fellow hustles peaches like he'd been at it all his life," the
commission man told his partner.

A few days later came the question that Sanders had been expecting.
"Where'd you work before you came to us?"

"At the penitentiary."

"A guard?" asked the merchant, taken aback.

"No. I was a convict." The big lithe man in overalls spoke quietly, his
eyes meeting those of the Market Street man with unwavering steadiness.

"What was the trouble?"

Dave explained. The merchant made no comment, but when he paid off the
men Saturday night he said with careful casualness, "Sorry, Sanders. The
work will be slack next week. I'll have to lay you off."

The man from Canon City understood. He looked for another place, was
rebuffed a dozen times, and at last was given work by an employer who had
vision enough to know the truth that the bad men do not all go to prison
and that some who go may be better than those who do not.

In this place Sanders lasted three weeks. He was doing concrete work on a
viaduct job for a contractor employed by the city.

This time it was a fellow-workman who learned of the Arizonan's record.
A letter from Emerson Crawford, forwarded by the warden of the
penitentiary, dropped out of Dave's coat pocket where it hung across
a plank.

The man who picked it up read the letter before returning it to the
pocket. He began at once to whisper the news. The subject was discussed
back and forth among the men on the quiet. Sanders guessed they had
discovered who he was, but he waited for them to move. His years in
prison had given him at least the strength of patience. He could bide
his time.

They went to the contractor. He reasoned with them.

"Does his work all right, doesn't he? Treats you all civilly. Doesn't
force himself on you. I don't see any harm in him."

"We ain't workin' with no jail bird," announced the spokesman.

"He told me the story and I've looked it up since. Talked with the lawyer
that defended him. He says the man Sanders killed was a bad lot and had
stolen his horse from him. Sanders was trying to