“What other penitentiary were you in?”
“Never was in any penitentiary,” I lied, and I knew he knew I was lying, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he had bullied me into telling the truth.
“Hah, you’re a liar, and you know it. You can’t get anything like that by me. I’ll dig you up, and find out all about you. Use hop?”
“No.” I did use hop, had eaten it all the time in the county jail, and had a small portion secreted about me then. He again called me a liar and said to a convict runner: “Here, Shorty, take this fellow to the stoneyard. Search him, and if you find anything you want, keep it.”
I had already been searched and had nothing but a handkerchief and a pipe. “No prisoner will keep anything belonging to me,” I said, looking at Shorty. He didn’t search me.
The captain called up the second man. “Where are you from?”
“Sacramento,” he answered.
“How long do you bring?”
“Ten years.”
“What for?”