And Warrigall I could see it all, sticking out as plain as a fresh track after rain. He’d come back to the Hollow, like a fool—in spite of me warning him—or because he had nowhere else to go. And the first time dad had an extra glass in his head he tackled him about giving me away and being the means of the other two’s death. Then he’d got real mad and run at him with the axe. Warrigal had fired as he came up, and hit him, too; but couldn’t stop him in the rush. Dad got in at him, and knocked his brains out there and then. Afterwards, he’d sat down and drank himself pretty well blind; and then, finding the pains coming on him, and knowing he couldn’t live, finished himself off with his own revolver.

It was just the way I expected he would make an ending. He couldn’t do much all alone in his line. The reward was a big one, and there would be always someone ready to earn it. Jim and Starlight were gone, and I was as good as dead. There wasn’t much of a call for him to keep alive. Anyhow, he died game, and paid up all scores, as he said himself.

I don’t know that there’s much more for me to say. Here I am boxed up, like a scrubber in a pound, year after year—and years after that—for I don’t know how long. How ever, O my God! how ever shall I stand it? Here I lie, half my time in a place where the sun never shines, locked up at five o’clock in my cell, and the same door with never a move in it till six o’clock next morning. A few hours’ walk in a prison yard, with a warder on the wall with a gun in his hand overhead. Then locked up again, Sundays and weekdays, no difference. Sometimes I think they’d better have hanged me right off. If I feel all these things now I’ve only been a few months doing my sentence, how about next year, and the year after that, and so on, and so on? Why, it seems as if it would mount up to more than a man’s life—to ten lives—and then to think how easy it might all have been saved.

There’s only one thing keeps me alive; only for that I’d have starved to death for want of having the heart to eat or drink either, or else have knocked my brains out against the wall when one of them low fits came over me. That one thing’s the thought of Gracey Storefield.