“There was a lot of people in the street and every one of ‘em seemed to know who was in the patrol-wagon, and they walked all the way over, and lots of little boys follered the wagon clear to the jail; then the newsboys on the street kep’ yellin’, ‘All ‘bout the capture of Jim Jackson! Extra paper!’ and it seemed as if the whole town was tryin’ to kill me. Somehow I hadn’t realized how ‘twas as I come ‘long, and, in fact, ever since I went away. Of course, I knew how bad the killin’ was, and how ever’one must feel, and how I wished I hadn’t done it, and how I’d have done anything on earth to make it different, but all the time I’d been away from the people that knew all about it, and I didn’t somehow realize what they’d do. But when I come back and seen it all I felt just as if there was a big storm out on the lake and I was standin’ on the shore and all the waves was comin’ right over me and carryin’ me away. “Well, they didn’t lose any time but drove as fast as they could down Dearborn Street over the bridge to the county jail. Then they hustled me right out and took me straight through the crowd up to the door; the Dearborn Street door (that’s the one you came in, I s’pose), and they didn’t wait hardly a minit to book me, but hurried me up stairs and locked me in a cell, and I haven’t seen the outside of the jail since, and I don’t s’pose I ever will.” Jim stopped as if the remembrance of it all had overpowered him. Hank didn’t know what to say, so he got up and walked a few turns back and forth along the cell, trying to get it all through his clouded mind. Such a night as this he had never dreamed of, and he could not yet realize what it meant. The long story and the intense suffering seemed to have taken all the strength that Jim had left. Hank turned to him with an effort to give him some consolation. “Say, Jim, don’t take it too hard. You know there ain’t much in it for any of us, and most people has more trouble than anything else. Lay down a little while; you can tell me the rest pretty soon.” “No,” Jim answered, “I ain’t got through; I can’t waste any time. It must be gettin’ along toward mornin’, and you see I don’t know just when it’ll be. They seem to think it’s treatin’ us better if they don’t tell us when, only just the day. Then you know, they can come in any time after midnight. They could break in now if they wanted to, but I s’pose they’ll give me my breakfast first, though they won’t wait long after that. Well, I ain’t got any right to complain, and I don’t mean to, but I s’pose I feel like anyone else would.” Just then a strange dull sound echoed through the silent corridors. Hank started with a nervous jerk. It sounded like a rope or strap suddenly pulled up short and tight. “What’s that?” Hank asked. Jim’s face was pale for a moment, and his breath was short and heavy. “Don’t you know? That’s the bag of sand.” “What bag of sand?” Hank asked.