“It might have been me instead of you, Buck. If I had stayed behind, I’d have done all those things. I see it clearly. I might have been lying here and you out and free. Buck, if it could give you my chance in life, and help you see it all as I do I’d gladly lie here and take your place.” “Mikky! Mikky!” cried Buck. “It’s me own Mikky! You was allus willin’ to take de rubs! But, Mikky, ef you’d hed de trainin’ you’d hev made de fine robber! You’d hev been a peach an’ no mistake!” Michael had found a soft spot in the warden’s heart and succeeded in doing a number of little things for Buck’s comfort. He hunted up the chaplain and secured a promise from him to teach Buck to read and write, and also to read to him all letters that Buck received, until such a time as he should be able to read them for himself. He sent a pot of roses with buds and full bloom to perfume the dark cell, and he promised to write often; while Buck on his part could only say over and over; “Oh, Mikky! Mikky! Ef we wos oney kids agin! Oh, Mikky, I’ll git out o’ here yit an’ find ye. Ye’ll not be ashamed o’ me. Ef I oney hadn’t a bungled de job. It were a bum job! Mikky! A bum job!” Michael saw that there was little use in talking to Buck about his sin. Buck had nothing whatever to build upon in the line of morals. To be loyal to his friends, and to do his “work” so that he would not get caught were absolutely the only articles in his creed. To get ahead of the rich, to take from them that which was theirs if he could, regardless of life or consequences, that was virtue; the rich were enemies, and his daring code of honor gave them the credit of equal courage with himself. They must outwit him or lose. If they died it was “all in the day’s work” and their loss. When his turn came he would take his medicine calmly. But the trouble with Buck now was that he had “bungled the job.” It was a disgrace on his profession. Things had been going against him lately, and he was “down on his luck.” Michael went back from the West feeling that the brief time allowed him with Buck was all too short for what he wanted to do for him; yet he felt that it had been worth the journey. Buck appreciated his sympathy, if he did not have an adequate sense of his own sinfulness. Michael had talked and pitied and tried to make Buck see, but Buck saw not, and Michael went home to hope and write and try to educate Buck through sheer love. It was all he saw to do.