They tried all the punishments, the paddle, the battery, the water-cure, the bull rings, but nothing availed to break the Kid's spirit. Then he was put on a bolt machine.
There was a convict named Dalton working near Archie and the Kid. Dalton had but one thought left in his mind, and this was that when he got out he would go to where he had concealed a kit of burglar tools. He had been the victim of some earlier practical jokers in the penitentiary, and had had a locksmith fashion for him tools such as no burglar ever needed or used in a business in which a jimmy, a piece of broom-stick and creepers are all the paraphernalia necessary. Dalton still had fourteen years to serve.
"Well, Jack, how's everything this morning?" the Kid would ask as soon as the guard went down to the other end of the shop.
"Oh, all right," Dalton would reply. Then he would grow serious, grit his teeth, clench his fist for emphasis and say: "Just wait till I get home! By God, if any one springs that kit of mine, I'll croak him!"
"Where's the plant?" the Kid would ask. "In the jungle?"
"Oh, you'll never find out!" Dalton would reply warily.
"Some of the hoosiers or the bulls are likely to spring it," the Kid would suggest.
The possibility tortured Dalton.
"By God," he could only say, "if they do--I'll croak 'em!"
"I wouldn't do that," said the Kid. "Get Dutch here to take you out with a tribe of peter men; he can teach you to pour the soup. Can't you get a little soup and some strings and begin with him now, Archie?"