Keep still, Jimmy, till we look you over a little more," said Bradford gently. They felt the boy's body over carefully. At last the teamster drew a long breath of relief.

"I don't believe there's any bones broken," said he. "How did it happen, Jimmy?"

66

He done it," mumbled Jimmy. His head was hardly clear yet.

"Who?" exclaimed Bradford and Billy Cook, in a breath.

After a moment's hard thought, the boy seemed to collect his thoughts.

"Bat," said he,-" Bat Cardigan done it. I throwed the chain down, and he chucked me right in front of the log."

"Bat did?" The two men looked at each other with horror upon their faces. "Yes; and he throwed water on the track, too. I saw him. I grabbed the chain between the wheelers and hung on. but I thought I was a goner, sure. He-"

"Where the blazes is he?" broke in Bradford, seeming suddenly to remember something. "I did n't see him when I picked you up. Have you seen him, Billy ?"

But Billy Cook had disappeared after hearing the first few words of the boy's story. A long blast of the big horn used for calling the crew to their meals told what the cook was doing. Blast after blast echoed through the woods, and soon the men were seen hurrying along by ones, twos or threes, for they knew something unusual had happened when the call for dinner came in the middle of the fore

noon.

"Mash the rascal's head in for him!"

We've got to catch him first." This was from Billy Cook, and seemed to strike the rest as sensible; for by one accord, they set out to the spot where the team stood bunched and mixed up, but normally placid and patient.

No Bat was there. The men examined the track, and saw the unmistakable signs of its having been copiously wetted. With renewed threats, they commenced an organized search for the water-tender. Had they caught him, being in no mind to consider their actions, the camp would quickly have been short one water-tender. was the case anyway, as no trace of Cardigan could be found then, nor was he again seen in that region.

Such

The next spring, however, the skeleton of a man was found by some hunters in the thick woods twenty miles away on Mad River. The body had been wrangled over by wild animals until identification was impossible, but evidence remained to show that in life the man had worn long black hair and a bushy black beard.

T

WENTY-TWO miles above Sacramento toward the mountains, on the banks of the American River, is the town of Folsom. It is not a pretty place, in fact, its one redeeming feature is the river, which goes tumbling down. through rocky gorges and over great masses of granite, wasting energy sufficient, were it utilized, to run half the mills in the State. But Folsom has at least onc distinctive feature: she harbors over nine hundred of the most desperate criminals to be found within the prisons of this country.

Somehow her hospitality does not seem to be appreciated, for her guests never care to return. Ask a criminal to which prison he prefers to be sent, and almost invariably the answer is, " San Quentin." There may be several reasons for this. One is, that San Quentin, being near a large city

(San Francisco), admits of many privileges which a convict may enjoy. He sees his friends more often; they send him more luxuries; and it is much easier to obtain opium and whisky. Then, too, the work is very hard at Folsom. The majority of the convicts labor in the great granite quarries beneath a blistering sun, in a malarious climate; and as these rebellious members of society are seldom noted for their industry when in the enjoyment of their liberty, it is not to be supposed that they labor very conscientiously for the State. At any rate, Folsom is the terror of convicts, and whether or not because of its superior facilities for handling unruly men, the most desperate and notorious criminals are generally sent there.

The prison is situated a mile and a half above the town, between two low hills, upon which are seventeen conical towers, resem

pression of the ground has been filled in, forming a large level space which constitutes the prison yard.

On holidays the prisoners are given the liberty of this yard and are free to amuse themselves in whatever manner they choose.

Without overcrowding, the prison can accommodate nearly twelve hundred men, and the architecture of the building is such that its capacity may be at any time increased without either marring its symmetry or impairing its usefulness.

There are two tiers of cells extending

put in operation at a moment's notice, should necessity require.

A portion of the front, or river-end, of the building is used for offices by the Board of Prison Directors, the Warden, clerk, and commissary officer. The Warden also resides here with his family, while the officers' quarters are located at the other extreme of the prison. The whole place is a model of cleanliness. It is no exaggeration to say that the sanitary features are perfect. With nine hundred human beings living and breathing under one roof, and practically in one room, the