agility which the slender variety of means allowed he used, and not
one of all the prisoners cared to try muscular conclusions with him.
Occasionally a new prisoner would experiment, but those who held over
knew better than to "bother the kid." When a rash and doubting man tried
it, he repented it in cotton cloth and arnica.

The only way in which Harold could be enticed into the residence part of
the jail was by sending Jack to call upon him.

At such times the jailer gave him plenty of time, and Harold poured
forth his latest plans in a swift torrent. He talked of nothing but the
West. "My sentence will be out in April," he said; "just the right time
to go. You must make all arrangements for me, old man. You take my money
and get these things for me. I want a six-shooter, the best you can
find, the kind they use out on the plains, and a belt and ammunition. I
want a valise--a good strong one; and I want you to put all my clothes
in it--I mean my underclothes--I won't need cuffs and collars and such
knickknacks out there. I shall never enter father's door again. Then I
want you to be on the lookout for a chance to drive cattle for somebody
going West. We'll find chances enough, and we'll strike for Abilene and
your uncle's place. I haven't money enough to carry me out there on the
train. Oh! won't it be good fun when we have a good horse apiece and go
riding across the plains herding the longhorns! That's life, that is! If
I'd only gone last year, out where the buffalo and the antelope are!"

At such times the eagle's heart in the youth could scarcely endure the
pale, cold light of the prison. For an hour after one of these talks
with Jack he tore around his cell like a crazed wolf, till his weary
muscles absorbed the ache in his heart.

During the winter the Young Men's Christian Association of the town
organized what they called a Prison Rescue Band, which held services in
the jail each Sunday afternoon. They were a great bore to Harold, who
knew the members of the band and disliked most of them. He considered
them "a little off their nut"--that is to say, fanatic. He kept his cell
closely, and the devoted ones seldom caught a glimpse of him, though he
was the chief object of their care. They sang Pull for the Shore, Trust
it all with Jesus, and other well-worn Moody and Sankey hymns, and the
leader prayed resoundingly, and then, one by one, the others made
little talks to the prison walls. There was seldom a face