"I'm sick. I want th' doctor."
"This isn't doctor hour. You'll see him in the morning."
"I may be dead in the morning. I want him now."
"You won't see him, that's all. You keep quiet there."
Furiously the prisoner raps on the door. The hall reverberates with hollow booming.
The Block Captain returns to the desk, his face crimson. He whispers to the Assistant Deputy. The latter nods his head. Woods claps his hands, deliberately, slowly—one, two, three. Guards hurriedly descend from the galleries, and advance to the desk. The rangemen appear at their doors.
"Everybody to his cell. Officers, lock 'em in!" Woods commands.
"You can stay here, Jasper," the Assistant Deputy remarks to the trusty.
The rangemen step into their cells. The levers are pulled, the doors locked. I hear the tread of many feet on the third gallery. Now they cease, and all is quiet.
"C 18, step out here!"