CHAPTER XV—Behind the Bars Dick Willoughby had been lodged in the county jail at Bakersfield, duly charged by Ben Thurston as the murderer of his son. To his surprise, and indeed to his dismay, the prisoner was informed that, the crime alleged being a capital one, no bail could be accepted. This was first of all a blow to Willoughby’s pride. Here he was under the stigma of imprisonment, but with no possibility of redress. It was not the loss of comforts, the deprivation of personal liberty, the hardships to body and to soul, inseparable from such restraint, that he resented, so much as the semiconviction of guilt implied by the durance vile to which he was to be subjected, although absolutely innocent of the deed of which he was accused. However, after first chagrin came manly philosophy. The law might be right or wrong, wise or unwise, necessary or superfluous. But all the same it was the law of the state and had therefore to be obeyed. So, when the situation was finally reviewed, it was Lieutenant Munson who, when bidding his friend good-night, had been the angry man, fretting and fuming over such an abominable act of injustice, while the prisoner himself was tranquilly resigned to the ordeal through which he must pass and to which unkind fate was subjecting him for reasons that he was powerless to fathom. “Good night, Ches, old man. You’ll see me again in the morning. It’s mighty kind of you to stay in town all night. But we can decide on the best lawyer to employ, and then you must hasten back to break the bad news at La Siesta.” Such had been Dick’s quiet words when their colloquy had been broken up, and he had been ordered to the retirement of his prison cell. To enter that place was for Dick a horrible experience. But he accepted the experience calmly, bade the turnkey a cheerful good-night, and laid him down to sleep on the narrow mattress resting upon the hard bench, at peace with himself and the world, even with the bitter enemy who had all so unexpectedly appeared on his path. Although Munson was back in the jail betimes next morning, he found Dick already conferring with a lawyer—the best and most honored in the town, as Munson knew the moment his name was mentioned. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Bradley,” said Dick, presenting him. “Some kind friend whose name he declines to reveal for the present, sent him a special message last night retaining his services for my defence.” “Mrs. Darlington, I bet,” interjected the lieutenant. “No, not Mrs. Darlington, let me assure you,” rejoined the lawyer, “although undoubtedly she would be willing to do the same thing. But I am not permitted to say any more.” “And he has carte blanche for all expenses,” smiled Dick. “Although I should not think there will be much money required to clear an innocent man,” he added. “Wait till you see,” said the lawyer crisply. “We have to reckon with a malignant persecutor, I am already informed.”