thing--you won't get no quit-claim for your mine. I'll lay
in jail and rot before I'll come through with it, so you can go as far
as you like. But if I ever get out----"

"That will do, young man," said Murray stepping back, "I see you're
becoming abusive. Very well, let the law take its course."

He straightened up his wry neck, put his glass eye into place and
stalked angrily out of the jail; and in the hard week that followed
Denver learned what he meant, for the wheels of the law began to grind.
First the District Attorney, in making his charge, denounced him like a
mad-man; then he brought on his witnesses, a solid phalanx, and put them
through their parts; and every point of law that Denver's attorney
brought up he tore it to pieces in an instant. He knew more law in a
minute than the lawyer would learn in a life-time, he could think
circles around him and not try; and when Denver's witnesses were placed
on the stand he cross-examined them until he nullified their testimony.
Even grim-eyed Bunker Hill, after testifying to Denver's character, was
compelled to admit that the first time he saw him he was engaged in a
fight with Meacham. And so it went on until the jury filed back with a
verdict of "Guilty of manslaughter."

Thus the law took its course over the body and soul of what had once
been a man; and when it was over Denver Russell was a Number with
eighteen years before him. Eighteen years more or less, according to his
conduct, for the laws of the State of Arizona imposed an indeterminate
sentence which might be varied to fit any case. As Murray had intimated,
under the new prison law a man could be paroled the day after he was
sentenced, though he were in for ninety-nine years. That was the law,
and it was just, for no court is infallible and injustice must be
rectified somewhere. After the poor man and his poor lawyer had matched
their puny wits against those of a fighting District Attorney then mercy
must intervene in the name of society and equalize the sentence. For the
District Attorney is hired by the county to send every man to prison,
but no one is hired to defend the innocent or to balance the scales of
justice.

Denver went to prison like any other prisoner, a rebel against society;
but after a lonely day in his cell he rose up and looked about him. Here
were men like himself--nay, old, hardened criminals--walking about in
civilian clothes, and the gates opened up before them. They passed out