At the age of 16 Eytinge started on his life of crime by forging a check. He went from bad to worse, and was soon known from east to west and north to south by the list of bad paper he had left behind. Many times his relatives kept him out of jail by straightening out difficulties into which the young man drifted, but finally they became tired of this and refused to have anything further to do with him. Cut off from home’s ties, Eytinge became even more desperate and finally ended up in the Ohio State Penitentiary following his arrest and a daring attempt at a big jail delivery. While in the penitentiary Eytinge was known as a “bad one” and when released it was found that he was suffering from the advanced stages of tuberculosis. This was at the age of twenty-seven. When relatives learned of his physical condition they weakened in their determination to do no more for him. They sent him to Arizona with an allowance of one hundred dollars per month. He was to remain away from Dayton and live within the law. Eytinge had not been in Arizona very long, however, until he was under suspicion of murder. A man with whom he had become quite friendly and whom he had taken care of in a financial way was found dead in the desert one day after Eytinge had been seen to leave the city with him for a buggy ride. When the body was found Eytinge had disappeared. He was found later in California and in his pockets were some of the belongings of the dead man. Eytinge was brought back to Arizona and placed on trial for his life. He was convicted on circumstantial evidence after William A. Pinkerton, one of the greatest detectives of the time, had declared that it was improbable that Eytinge had killed the man “as his criminal bend did not gallop in that direction.” Judge A. C. Wright, of Phoenix, who defended Eytinge, was so sure of the prisoner’s innocence that he went into his own pocket to pay for the appeal of the case. Eytinge was convicted and sentenced to life in prison. How long can he live in prison? That was the question asked by all who had seen him on the witness stand. Eytinge was near death’s door at the time. His allowance had been cut off and he did not have the funds with which to purchase fresh milk and eggs, two delicacies almost absolutely necessary for the tubercular patient. The State prison was then at Yuma, Arizona. It was a hell hole with its mosquitoes which swarmed into the cells that looked out on the Colorado river. The quarters were damp, dark and dirty, and afforded excellent means of killing a man who at the time was ready to die. But right there is the story. Eytinge was not ready to die. He was not 30 years old. He clung to the hope that something would bring about his release. He wanted to live, wanted to breathe again the fresh air of freedom and hobnob again with the pals, association with whom had placed him behind steel bars. Eytinge was still a crook.