Wherefore Al Hutchins, in possession of ten or twelve thousand dollars and of the promise of a pardon, could be depended upon to do the Warden's bidding blind.
I have just said that Warden Atherton came into my cell intent on murder.
His face showed it.

His actions proved it.
"Examine him," he ordered Doctor Jackson.
That wretched apology of a creature stripped from me my dirt-encrusted shirt that I had worn since my entrance to solitary, and exposed my poor wasted body, the skin ridged like brown parchment over the ribs and sore- infested from the many bouts with the jacket.

The examination was shamelessly perfunctory.
"Will he stand it ?" the Warden demanded.
"Yes," Doctor Jackson answered.
"How's the heart ?" "Splendid." "You think he'll stand ten days of it, Doc. ?" "Sure." "I don't believe it," the Warden announced savagely.

"But we'll try it just the same .-- Lie down, Standing." I obeyed, stretching myself face-downward on the flat-spread jacket.

The Warden seemed to debate with himself for a moment.
"Roll over," he commanded.
I made several efforts, but was too weak to succeed, and could only sprawl and squirm in my helplessness.
"Putting it on," was Jackson's comment.
"Well, he won't have to put it on when I'm done with him," said the Warden.