walls　of　rubble。　　In　the　middle　distance　was　a　cluster　of　wretched；
  flat…roofed　hovels。
  〃Now；　my　boy；　where　is　that？〃　the　missionary　quizzed。
  And　the　name　came　to　me！
  〃Samaria；〃　I　said　instantly。
  My　father　clapped　his　hands　with　glee；　my　mother　was　perplexed　at　my
  antic　conduct；　while　the　missionary　evinced　irritation。
  〃The　boy　is　right；〃　he　said。　　〃It　is　a　village　in　Samaria。　　I　passed
  through　it。　　That　is　why　I　bought　it。　　And　it　goes　to　show　that　the
  boy　has　seen　similar　photographs　before。〃
  This　my　father　and　mother　denied。
  〃But　it's　different　in　the　picture；〃　I　volunteered；　while　all　the
  time　my　memory　was　busy　reconstructing　the　photograph。　　The　general
  trend　of　the　landscape　and　the　line　of　the　distant　hills　were　the
  same。　　The　differences　I　noted　aloud　and　pointed　out　with　my　finger。
  〃The　houses　was　about　right　here；　and　there　was　more　trees；　lots　of
  trees；　and　lots　of　grass；　and　lots　of　goats。　　I　can　see　'em　now；　an'
  two　boys　drivin'　'em。　　An'　right　here　is　a　lot　of　men　walkin'　behind
  one　man。　　An'　over　there〃I　pointed　to　where　I　had　placed　my
  village〃is　a　lot　of　tramps。　　They　ain't　got　nothin'　on　exceptin'
  rags。　　An'　they're　sick。　　Their　faces；　an'　hands；　an'　legs　is　all
  sores。〃
  〃He's　heard　the　story　in　church　or　somewhereyou　remember；　the
  healing　of　the　lepers　in　Luke；〃　the　missionary　said　with　a　smile　of
  satisfaction。　　〃How　many　sick　tramps　are　there；　my　boy？〃
  I　had　learned　to　count　to　a　hundred　when　I　was　five　years　old；　so　I
  went　over　the　group　carefully　and　announced：
  〃Ten　of　'em。　　They're　all　wavin'　their　arms　an'　yellin'　at　the　other
  men。〃
  〃But　they　don't　come　near　them？〃　was　the　query。
  I　shook　my　head。　　〃They　just　stand　right　there　an'　keep　a…yellin'
  like　they　was　in　trouble。〃
  〃Go　on；〃　urged　the　missionary。　　〃What　next？　　What's　the　man　doing　in
  the　front　of　the　other　crowd　you　said　was　walking　along？〃
  〃They've　all　stopped；　an'　he's　sayin'　something　to　the　sick　men。
  An'　the　boys　with　the　goats　's　stopped　to　look。　　Everybody's
  lookin'。〃
  〃And　then？〃
  〃That's　all。　　The　sick　men　are　headin'　for　the　houses。　　They　ain't
  yellin'　any　more；　an'　they　don't　look　sick　any　more。　　An'　I　just
  keep　settin'　on　my　horse　a…lookin'　on。〃
  At　this　all　three　of　my　listeners　broke　into　laughter。
  〃An'　I'm　a　big　man！〃　I　cried　out　angrily。　　〃An'　I　got　a　big　sword！〃
  〃The　ten　lepers　Christ　healed　before　he　passed　through　Jericho　on
  his　way　to　Jerusalem；〃　the　missionary　explained　to　my　parents。　　〃The
  boy　has　seen　slides　of　famous　paintings　in　some　magic　lantern
  exhibition。〃
  But　neither　father　nor　mother　could　remember　that　I　had　ever　seen　a
  magic　lantern。
  〃Try　him　with　another　picture；〃　father　suggested。
  〃It's　all　different；〃　I　complained　as　I　studied　the　photograph　the
  missionary　handed　me。　　〃Ain't　nothin'　here　except　that　hill　and　them
  other　hills。　　This　ought　to　be　a　country　road　along　here。　　An'　over
  there　ought　to　be　gardens；　an'　trees；　an'　houses　behind　big　stone
  walls。　　An'　over　there；　on　the　other　side；　in　holes　in　the　rocks
  ought　to　be　where　they　buried　dead　folks。　　You　see　this　place？they
  used　to　throw　stones　at　people　there　until　they　killed　'm。　　I　never
  seen　'm　do　it。　　They　just　told　me　about　it。〃
  〃And　the　hill？〃　the　missionary　asked；　pointing　to　the　central　part
  of　the　print；　for　which　the　photograph　seemed　to　have　been　taken。
  〃Can　you　tell　us　the　name　of　the　hill？〃
  I　shook　my　head。
  〃Never　had　no　name。　　They　killed　folks　there。　　I've　seem　'm　more　'n
  once。〃
  〃This　time　he　agrees　with　the　majority　of　the　authorities；〃
  announced　the　missionary　with　huge　satisfaction。　　〃The　hill　is
  Golgotha；　the　Place　of　Skulls；　or；　as　you　please；　so　named　because
  it　resembles　a　skull。　　Notice　the　resemblance。　　That　is　where　they
  crucified〃　　He　broke　off　and　turned　to　me。　　〃Whom　did　they　crucify
  there；　young　scholar？　　Tell　us　what　else　you　see。〃
  Oh；　I　sawmy　father　reported　that　my　eyes　were　bulging；　but　I　shook
  my　head　stubbornly　and　said：
  〃I　ain't　a…goin'　to　tell　you　because　you're　laughin'　at　me。　　I　seen
  lots　an'　lots　of　men　killed　there。　　They　nailed　'em　up；　an'　it　took
  a　long　time。　　I　seenbut　I　ain't　a…goin'　to　tell。　　I　don't　tell
  lies。　　You　ask　dad　an'　ma　if　I　tell　lies。　　He'd　whale　the　stuffin'
  out　of　me　if　I　did。　　Ask　'm。〃
  And　thereat　not　another　word　could　the　missionary　get　from　me；　even
  though　he　baited　me　with　more　photographs　that　sent　my　head　whirling
  with　a　rush　of　memory…pictures　and　that　urged　and　tickled　my　tongue
  with　spates　of　speech　which　I　sullenly　resisted　and　overcame。
  〃He　will　certainly　make　a　good　Bible　scholar；〃　the　missionary　told
  father　and　mother　after　I　had　kissed　them　good…night　and　departed
  for　bed。　　〃Or　else；　with　that　imagination；　he'll　become　a　successful
  fiction…writer。〃
  Which　shows　how　prophecy　can　go　agley。　　I　sit　here　in　Murderers'
  Row；　writing　these　lines　in　my　last　days；　or；　rather；　in　Darrell
  Standing's　last　days　ere　they　take　him　out　and　try　to　thrust　him
  into　the　dark　at　the　end　of　a　rope；　and　I　smile　to　myself。　　I　became
  neither　Bible　scholar　nor　novelist。　　On　the　contrary；　until　they
  buried　me　in　the　cells　of　silence　for　half　a　decade；　I　was
  everything　that　the　missionary　forecasted　notan　agricultural
  expert；　a　professor　of　agronomy；　a　specialist　in　the　science　of　the
  elimination　of　waste　motion；　a　master　of　farm　efficiency；　a　precise
  laboratory　scientist　where　precision　and　adherence　to　microscopic
  fact　are　absolute　requirements。
  And　I　sit　here　in　the　warm　afternoon；　in　Murderers'　Row；　and　cease
  from　the　writing　of　my　memoirs　to　listen　to　the　soothing　buzz　of
  flies　in　the　drowsy　air；　and　catch　phrases　of　a　low…voiced
  conversation　between　Josephus　Jackson；　the　negro　murderer　on　my
  right；　and　Bambeccio；　the　Italian　murderer　on　my　left；　who　are
  discussing；　through　grated　door　to　grated　door；　back　and　forth　past
  my　grated　door；　the　antiseptic　virtues　and　excellences　of　chewing
  tobacco　for　flesh　wounds。
  And　in　my　suspended　hand　I　hold　my　fountain　pen；　and　as　I　remember
  that　other　hands　of　me；　in　long　gone　ages；　wielded　ink…brush；　and
  quill；　and　stylus；　I　also　find　thought…space　in　time　to　wonder　if
  that　missionary；　when　he　was　a　little　lad；　ever　trailed　clouds　of
  glory　and　glimpsed　the　brightness　of　old　star…roving　days。
  Well；　back　to　solitary；　after　I　had　learned　the　code　of　knuckle…talk
  and　still　found　the　hours　of　consciousness　too　long　to　endure。　　By
  self…hypnosis；　which　I　began　successfully　to　practise；　I　became　able
  to　put　my　conscious　mind　to　sleep　and　to　awaken　and　loose　my
  subconscious　mind。　　But　the　latter　was　an　undisciplined　and　lawless
  thing。　　It　wandered　through　all　nightmarish　madness；　without
  coherence；　without　continuity　of　scene；　event；　or　person。
  My　method　of　mechanical　hypnosis　was　the　soul　of　simplicity。
  Sitting　with　folded　legs　on　my　straw…mattress；　I　gazed　fixedly　at　a
  fragment　of　bright　straw　which　I　had　attached　to　the　wall　of　my　cell
  near　the　door　where　the　most　light　was。　　I　gazed　at　the　bright
  point；　with　my　eyes　close　to　it；　and　tilted　upward　till　they
  strained　to　see。　　At　the　same　time　I　relaxed　all　the　will　of　me　and
  gave　myself　to　the　swaying　dizziness　that　always　eventually　came　to
  me。　　And　when　I　felt　myself　sway　out　of　balance　backward；　I　closed
  my　eyes　and　permitted　myself　to　fall　supine　and　unconscious　on　the
  mattress。
  And　then；　for　half…an…hour；　ten　minutes；　or　as　long　as　an　hour　or
  so；　I　would　wander　erratically　and　foolishly　through　the　stored
  memories　of　my　eternal　recurrence　on　earth。　　But　times　and　places
  shifted　too　swiftly。　　I　knew　afterward；　when　I　awoke；　that　I；
  Darrell　Standing；　was　the　linking　personality　that　connected　all
  bizarreness　and　grotesqueness。　　But　that　was　all。　　I　could　never
  live　out　completely　one　full　experience；　one　point　of　consciousness
  in　time　and　space。　　My　dreams；　if　dreams　they　may　be　called；　were
  rhymeless　and　reasonless。
  Thus；　as　a　sample　of　my　rovings：　　in　a　single　interval　of　fifteen
  minutes　of　subconsciousness　I　have　crawled　and　bellowed　in　the　slime
  of　the　primeval　world　and　sat　beside　Haasfurther　and　cleaved　the
  twentieth　century　air　in　a　gas…driven　monoplane。　　Awake；　I
  remembered　that　I；　Darrell　Standing；　in　the　flesh；　during　the　year
  preceding　my　incarceration　in　San　Quentin；　had　flown　with　Haas
  further　over　the　Pacific　at　Santa　Monica。　　Awake；　I　did　not　remember
  the　crawling　and　the　bellowing　in　the　ancient　slime。　　Nevertheless；
  awake；　I　reasoned　that　somehow　I　had　remembered　that　early　adventure
  in　the　slime；　and　that　it　was　a　verity　of　long…previous　experience；
  when　I　was　not　yet　Darrell　Standing　but　somebody　else；　or　something
  else　that　crawled　and　bellowed。　　One　experience　was　merely　more
  remote　than　the　other。　　Both　experiences　were　equally　realor　else
  how　did　I　remember　them？
  Oh；　what　a　fluttering　of　luminous　images　and　actions！　　In　a　few