“The only one he could take, the only one he or anyone else knew. You know the other way in—you only, they say.”
“I found it—the easier, quick way in; a year ago I found it.”
“Was it near the other entrance?” Grassette shook his head. “A mile away.”
“If the man is alive—and we think he is—you are the only person that can save him. I have telegraphed the Government. They do not promise, but they will reprieve, and save your life, if you find the man.”
“Alive or dead?”
“Alive or dead, for the act would be the same. I have an order to take you to the Gulch, if you will go; and I am sure that you will have your life, if you do it. I will promise—ah yes, Grassette, but it shall be so! Public opinion will demand it. You will do it?”
“To go free—altogether?”
“Well, but if your life is saved, Grassette?”
The dark face flushed, then grew almost repulsive again in its sullenness.
“Life—and this, in prison, shut in year after year. To do always what some one else wills, to be a slave to a warder. To have men like that over me that have been a boss of men—wasn’t it that drove me to kill?—to be treated like dirt. And to go on with this, while outside there is free life, and to go where you will at your own price-no! What do I care for life! What is it to me! To live like this—ah, I would break my head against these stone walls, I would choke myself with my own hands! If I stayed here, I would kill again, I would kill—kill.”