She was appalled at his venomous hatred. Vaguely she knew that prison discipline was often harsh. Occasionally some echo of it crept into newspapers. Falkner was refractory and undisciplined. No doubt he had broken rules and been insubordinate. It came to her that there had been some contest of stubborn will between this lawless convict and the guards who had charge of him. His face was scarred with wounds not yet healed. She did not know that ridges crossed and recrossed his back where the lash had cut away the skin with cruel strokes which had burned like fire. But she did know that he was untamed and unbroken, that nothing short of death could make that wild spirit quail before his tormentors. “I wish I could help you,” she said. “But I can’t. All I can do is ask you to help me. Won’t you think about it, please? I know you’re a man. You’re not afraid to take the blame that belongs to you. If you could only see this straight, the way you would see it if you were outdoors in the hills, I know you would help me.” “I don’t need to think about it. I’m playin’ my own hand.” “The governor says that if I can get any evidence, any proof that Rowan did not start the shooting or kill Gilroy, he will give him a pardon. It lies with you, Mr. Falkner.” “Well, I’ve done given you my answer. I’m for myself, an’ for nobody else. Tha’s the bed rock of it.” For Rowan’s freedom Ruth would have gone a long way. She had humbled herself to plead with the convict. But she had known it would be useless. His environment had so deadened his moral sense, so numbed his sympathy, that she could strike no response from him. When she left the prison it was with the knowledge that she had not advanced her husband’s cause one whit. In front of the warden’s house a convict was wheeling manure and scattering it on the lawn. Some trick of gesture caught the attention of Ruth. Her arrested eyes fixed themselves on the man. His shoulders drooped, and his whole attitude expressed dejected listlessness, but she was sure she knew him. Deserting the warden’s wife, she ran forward with both hands outstretched. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” For an instant a puzzled expression lifted the white eyebrows and slackened the lank jaw of Sam Yerby. Then his shoulders straightened. He had been caught with his guard down, detected in the mood of hopelessness into which he often fell now. He came gamely to time. “Well—well, Miss Ruth. I’m sure proud to see you, ma’am.” “They told me you were at a road camp. One of the guards said so.” “I was, but I’m back. You’re looking fine, ma’am. Missie writes me you-all done got a little baby of yore own now.” She nodded. “Yes, I’ll tell you all about it. But how are you? Missie will ask me a hundred questions.”