protests from Richling, who
would now do it alone, and with Ristofalo smiling like a Chinaman at the
obscene ribaldry of the spectators in the yard, they scrubbed the cell.
Then came the tank. They had to stand in it with the water up to their
knees, and rub its sides with brickbats. Richling fell down twice in the
water, to the uproarious delight of the yard; but his companion helped
him up, and they both agreed it was the sliminess of the tank's bottom
that was to blame.

"Soon we get through we goin' to buy drink o' whisky from jailer," said
Ristofalo; "he keep it for sale. Then, after that, kin hire somebody to
go to your house; captain yard think we gittin' mo' whisky."

"Hire?" said Richling. "I haven't a cent in the world."

"I got a little--few dimes," rejoined the other.

"Then why are you here? Why are you in this part of the prison?"

"Oh, 'fraid to spend it. On'y got few dimes. Broke ag'in."

Richling stopped still with astonishment, brickbat in hand. The Italian
met his gaze with an illuminated smile. "Yes," he said, "took all I had
with me to bayou La Fourche. Coming back, slept with some men in boat.
One git up in night-time and steal everything. Then was a big fight.
Think that what fight was about--about dividing the money. Don't know
sure. One man git killed. Rest run into the swamp and prairie. Officer
arrest me for witness. Couldn't trust me to stay in the city."

"Do you think the one who was killed was the thief?"

"Don't know sure," said the Italian, with the same sweet face, and
falling to again with his brickbat,--"hope so!"

"Strange place to confine a witness!" said Richling, holding his hand to
his bruised side and slowly straightening his back.

"Oh, yes, good place," replied the other, scrubbing away; "git him, in
short time, so he swear to anything."

It was far on in the afternoon before the wary Ristofalo ventured to
offer all he had in his pocket to a hanger-on of the prison office, to
go first to Richling's house, and then to an acquaintance of his own,
with messages looking to the procuring of their release. The messenger
chose to go first to Ristofalo's friend, and afterward to Mrs. Riley's.
It was growing dark when he reached the latter place. Mary was out in
the city somewhere, wandering about, aimless and distracted, in search
of Richling. The messenger left word with Mrs. Riley. Richling had all
along hoped that that good friend, doubtless acquainted with the most
app