"Hello, Babe!" chimed a chorus from behind the bars. "Hey, Babe—sing 'Kansas'! Oh, Babe!" But Angevine Thorne had no thought for his quondam prison mates, he was placing himself on record in a protest against the law. "The Constitution of the United States guarantees to every man a fair and speedy trial," he declaimed with drunken vehemence, "but look here and see what a mockery you have made the law! Look at these poor men, caged up here yet, waiting for their trial! Is that a fair and speedy hearing? Look at me; arrested for no offence; confined without cause; condemned without a hearing; imprisoned for no crime! Is that justice? Justice forsooth! It is conspiracy—treachery—crime! Yes, I say _crime_! You are the criminals and we the helpless victims of your hands! I appeal to God, if there is a God, to bear witness of my innocence! What? I must go in? Then throw open your prison doors—I die a martyr to the Cause!" The clanging of the cell doors gave no pause to his impassioned eloquence, nor yet his sudden injection into jail; but when, as he swayed upon his heels, his eyes fell upon the haggard features of Pecos Dalhart, the apostle of civic equality stopped short and struck his brow with a despairing hand. "What!" he cried. "Are you here, Cumrad? Then let me die forthwith, for tyranny has done its worst! Pecos Dalhart, immured within prison walls, torn from the fond embrace of his—but hush, I go too far. Pecos, old boy, in the years to come your name shall go down to posterity as a martyr to the Cause. You have been arrested, sir, for no crime in law or fact, but simply for your outspoken opposition to the foul conspiracy of capitalism. Oh, that I might stand before the people and plead your cause—But enough; how are you, Old Hoss?" He gathered Pecos into his arms and embraced him, and to the astonishment of Hung Wo and the prisoners Pecos hugged him to his breast. "I'm dam' glad to see you, Angy," he murmured, "and no mistake. Here—take this strap and keep them fellers off—I'm dyin' for a sleep." He reached back for the floor, slipped gently down and stretched out upon the hard concrete. When Angevine Thorne lifted up his head he was asleep. "Poor old Pecos," said Angy, holding out his hands as Mark Antony did over Cæsar, "there he lies, a victim to his country's laws. But sleep, old friend, and the first man that disturbs your dreams will feel the weight of this!" He held up the alcalde's strap for emphasis, and a low rumble of disapproval went up from the rows of cells. "He broke every head in jail last night," volunteered the deputy, "an' it's about time he was kangarooed!" "Not while I live!" declared Angy tragically. "Right or wrong, the first man that lays hands on this poor corse will fight it out with me!"