“Well, sir, I am glad that we have found a way to make you work, and you may go back to hard labor.” The guard was called and orders given to take the prisoner back to hard labor—not the printing shop, as he was willing to do hard work. “You may try to lift some of those anvils which we have orders to ship. It requires three or four men to get them where we can load and ship.” Could I do what required the strength of three or four men? “You may come along here.” As I was leaving for the shipping yards I felt that I was accompanied by others beside my guard, but I could see no one. Presently we confronted the place of shipping, and I was shown what was to be done. I looked at the guard, and exclaimed: “Man, do you expect me to load those heavy irons on the truck?” “I do.” “Well, I do not think that your expectations will be granted. I am not a giant, and neither am I a myth. I am only a man, as you are.” “I did not bring you over here to argue that question. What you must do is do the best that you can and try to load up.” “I will not disobey orders, but I do not see or understand why I should be asked to do such hard work—why the work of two or three men should be placed on one.” Once more I felt that I could not get courage to try. I could hear someone say: “_We will help you._” I looked for someone, as before, but no one was near. “Well, if you are going to work, do so at once.” I bent over to make an attempt to satisfy my guard. As I did so I received help, and behold, I could feel the iron move! I was horrified, but I saw that I was moving it along toward the truck, and that without strain or great effort on my part. As the guard saw the great load moving he called out: “You are moving it! Be careful, be careful!” I could hear the sound of someone breathing heavily. I put the load down and turned to see if I had help. As I looked for the guard, to my surprise, he was lying on the floor near by. I stepped over and spoke to him. He did not answer. I called out to him to speak to me. No answer. The shipping space was off to itself, and at that moment there was no one near. I could not think what to do. I could see at once that I would be accused of harming or killing him, as he lay apparently dead. CHAPTER IV. ACCUSED OF MURDER. I thought of the other wrong accusation of murder. Now, perhaps, it would happen again. I finally decided to call for help. An officer stepped up. When he saw his fellow-officer lying as I have said, apparently dead, he at once accused me. “What have you done to this man?” “I am innocent of any harm to that man. I did not even see him fall.” “What were you doing that you did not see him fall?” “I, sir, was doing what he told me to do—loading those pieces of iron on the truck. I heard deep breathing and turned to look, and found him as you see him now.”