had　just　lived　in　old　France。
  So　it　was；　even　as　they　stood　about　me；　that　I　strove　to　eliminate
  the　live　portion　of　my　body　from　my　consciousness。　　I　was　in　haste
  to　depart；　but　Warden　Atherton's　voice　held　me　back。
  〃Is　there　anything　you　want　to　complain　about？〃　he　asked。
  Now　I　had　but　one　fear；　namely；　that　they　would　unlace　me；　so　that
  it　must　be　understood　that　my　reply　was　not　uttered　in　braggadocio
  but　was　meant　to　forestall　any　possible　unlacing。
  〃You　might　make　the　jacket　a　little　tighter；〃　I　whispered。　　〃It's
  too　loose　for　comfort。　　I　get　lost　in　it。　　Hutchins　is　stupid。　　He
  is　also　a　fool。　　He　doesn't　know　the　first　thing　about　lacing　the
  jacket。　　Warden；　you　ought　to　put　him　in　charge　of　the　loom…room。
  He　is　a　more　profound　master　of　inefficiency　than　the　present
  incumbent；　who　is　merely　stupid　without　being　a　fool　as　well。　　Now
  get　out；　all　of　you；　unless　you　can　think　of　worse　to　do　to　me。　　In
  which　case；　by　all　means　remain。　　I　invite　you　heartily　to　remain；
  if　you　think　in　your　feeble　imaginings　that　you　have　devised　fresh
  torture　for　me。〃
  〃He's　a　wooz；　a　true…blue；　dyed…in…the…wool　wooz；〃　Doctor　Jackson
  chanted；　with　the　medico's　delight　in　a　novelty。
  〃Standing；　you　ARE　a　wonder；〃　the　Warden　said。　　〃You've　got　an　iron
  will；　but　I'll　break　it　as　sure　as　God　made　little　apples。〃
  〃And　you've　the　heart　of　a　rabbit；〃　I　retorted。　　〃One…tenth　the
  jacketing　I　have　received　in　San　Quentin　would　have　squeezed　your
  rabbit　heart　out　of　your　long　ears。〃
  Oh；　it　was　a　touch；　that；　for　the　Warden　did　have　unusual　ears。
  They　would　have　interested　Lombroso；　I　am　sure。
  〃As　for　me；〃　I　went　on；　〃I　laugh　at　you；　and　I　wish　no　worse　fate　to
  the　loom…room　than　that　you　should　take　charge　of　it　yourself。　　Why；
  you've　got　me　down　and　worked　your　wickedness　on　me；　and　still　I
  live　and　laugh　in　your　face。　　Inefficient？　　You　can't　even　kill　me。
  Inefficient？　　You　couldn't　kill　a　cornered　rat　with　a　stick　of
  dynamiteREAL　dynamite；　and　not　the　sort　you　are　deluded　into
  believing　I　have　hidden　away。〃
  〃Anything　more？〃　he　demanded；　when　I　had　ceased　from　my　diatribe。
  And　into　my　mind　flashed　what　I　had　told　Fortini　when　he　pressed　his
  insolence　on　me。
  〃Begone；　you　prison　cur；〃　I　said。　　〃Take　your　yapping　from　my　door。〃
  It　must　have　been　a　terrible　thing　for　a　man　of　Warden　Atherton's
  stripe　to　be　thus　bearded　by　a　helpless　prisoner。　　His　face　whitened
  with　rage　and　his　voice　shook　as　he　threatened：
  〃By　God；　Standing；　I'll　do　for　you　yet。〃
  〃There　is　only　one　thing　you　can　do；〃　I　said。　　〃You　can　tighten　this
  distressingly　loose　jacket。　　If　you　won't；　then　get　out。　　And　I
  don't　care　if　you　fail　to　come　back　for　a　week　or　for　the　whole　ten
  days。〃
  And　what　can　even　the　Warden　of　a　great　prison　do　in　reprisal　on　a
  prisoner　upon　whom　the　ultimate　reprisal　has　already　been　wreaked？
  It　may　be　that　Warden　Atherton　thought　of　some　possible　threat；　for
  he　began　to　speak。　　But　my　voice　had　strengthened　with　the　exercise；
  and　I　began　to　sing；　〃Sing　cucu；　sing　cucu；　sing　cucu。〃　　And　sing　I
  did　until　my　door　clanged　and　the　bolts　and　locks　squeaked　and
  grated　fast。
  CHAPTER　XII
  Now　that　I　had　learned　the　trick　the　way　was　easy。　　And　I　knew　the
  way　was　bound　to　become　easier　the　more　I　travelled　it。　　Once
  establish　a　line　of　least　resistance；　every　succeeding　journey　along
  it　will　find　still　less　resistance。　　And　so；　as　you　shall　see；　my
  journeys　from　San　Quentin　life　into　other　lives　were　achieved　almost
  automatically　as　time　went　by。
  After　Warden　Atherton　and　his　crew　had　left　me　it　was　a　matter　of
  minutes　to　will　the　resuscitated　portion　of　my　body　back　into　the
  little　death。　　Death　in　life　it　was；　but　it　was　only　the　little
  death；　similar　to　the　temporary　death　produced　by　an　anaesthetic。
  And　so；　from　all　that　was　sordid　and　vile；　from　brutal　solitary　and
  jacket　hell；　from　acquainted　flies　and　sweats　of　darkness　and　the
  knuckle…talk　of　the　living　dead；　I　was　away　at　a　bound　into　time　and
  space。
  Came　the　duration　of　darkness；　and　the　slow…growing　awareness　of
  other　things　and　of　another　self。　　First　of　all；　in　this　awareness；
  was　dust。　　It　was　in　my　nostrils；　dry　and　acrid。　　It　was　on　my　lips。
  It　coated　my　face；　my　hands；　and　especially　was　it　noticeable　on　the
  finger…tips　when　touched　by　the　ball　of　my　thumb。
  Next　I　was　aware　of　ceaseless　movement。　　All　that　was　about　me
  lurched　and　oscillated。　　There　was　jolt　and　jar；　and　I　heard　what　I
  knew　as　a　matter　of　course　to　be　the　grind　of　wheels　on　axles　and
  the　grate　and　clash　of　iron　tyres　against　rock　and　sand。　　And　there
  came　to　me　the　jaded　voices　of　men；　in　curse　and　snarl　of　slow…
  plodding；　jaded　animals。
  I　opened　my　eyes；　that　were　inflamed　with　dust；　and　immediately
  fresh　dust　bit　into　them。　　On　the　coarse　blankets　on　which　I　lay　the
  dust　was　half　an　inch　thick。　　Above　me；　through　sifting　dust；　I　saw
  an　arched　roof　of　lurching；　swaying　canvas；　and　myriads　of　dust
  motes　descended　heavily　in　the　shafts　of　sunshine　that　entered
  through　holes　in　the　canvas。
  I　was　a　child；　a　boy　of　eight　or　nine；　and　I　was　weary；　as　was　the
  woman；　dusty…visaged　and　haggard；　who　sat　up　beside　me　and　soothed　a
  crying　babe　in　her　arms。　　She　was　my　mother；　that　I　knew　as　a　matter
  of　course；　just　as　I　knew；　when　I　glanced　along　the　canvas　tunnel　of
  the　wagon…top；　that　the　shoulders　of　the　man　on　the　driver's　seat
  were　the　shoulders　of　my　father。
  When　I　started　to　crawl　along　the　packed　gear　with　which　the　wagon
  was　laden　my　mother　said　in　a　tired　and　querulous　voice；　〃Can't　you
  ever　be　still　a　minute；　Jesse？〃
  That　was　my　name；　Jesse。　　I　did　not　know　my　surname；　though　I　heard
  my　mother　call　my　father　John。　　I　have　a　dim　recollection　of
  hearing；　at　one　time　or　another；　the　other　men　address　my　father　as
  Captain。　　I　knew　that　he　was　the　leader　of　this　company；　and　that
  his　orders　were　obeyed　by　all。
  I　crawled　out　through　the　opening　in　the　canvas　and　sat　down　beside
  my　father　on　the　seat。　　The　air　was　stifling　with　the　dust　that　rose
  from　the　wagons　and　the　many　hoofs　of　the　animals。　　So　thick　was　the
  dust　that　it　was　like　mist　or　fog　in　the　air；　and　the　low　sun　shone
  through　it　dimly　and　with　a　bloody　light。
  Not　alone　was　the　light　of　this　setting　sun　ominous；　but　everything
  about　me　seemed　ominousthe　landscape；　my　father's　face；　the　fret
  of　the　babe　in　my　mother's　arms　that　she　could　not　still；　the　six
  horses　my　father　drove　that　had　continually　to　be　urged　and　that
  were　without　any　sign　of　colour；　so　heavily　had　the　dust　settled　on
  them。
  The　landscape　was　an　aching；　eye…hurting　desolation。　　Low　hills
  stretched　endlessly　away　on　every　hand。　　Here　and　there　only　on
  their　slopes　were　occasional　scrub　growths　of　heat…parched　brush。
  For　the　most　part　the　surface　of　the　hills　was　naked…dry　and
  composed　of　sand　and　rock。　　Our　way　followed　the　sand…bottoms
  between　the　hills。　　And　the　sand…bottoms　were　bare；　save　for　spots
  of　scrub；　with　here　and　there　short　tufts　of　dry　and　withered　grass。
  Water　there　was　none；　nor　sign　of　water；　except　for　washed　gullies
  that　told　of　ancient　and　torrential　rains。
  My　father　was　the　only　one　who　had　horses　to　his　wagon。　　The　wagons
  went　in　single　file；　and　as　the　train　wound　and　curved　I　saw　that
  the　other　wagons　were　drawn　by　oxen。　　Three　or　four　yoke　of　oxen
  strained　and　pulled　weakly　at　each　wagon；　and　beside　them；　in　the
  deep　sand；　walked　men　with　ox…goads；　who　prodded　the　unwilling
  beasts　along。　　On　a　curve　I　counted　the　wagons　ahead　and　behind。　　I
  knew　that　there　were　forty　of　them；　including　our　own；　for　often　I
  had　counted　them　before。　　And　as　I　counted　them　now；　as　a　child　will
  to　while　away　tedium；　they　were　all　there；　forty　of　them；　all
  canvas…topped；　big　and　massive；　crudely　fashioned；　pitching　and
  lurching；　grinding　and　jarring　over　sand　and　sage…brush　and　rock。
  To　right　and　left　of　us；　scattered　along　the　train；　rode　a　dozen　or
  fifteen　men　and　youths　on　horses。　　Across　their　pommels　were　long…
  barrelled　rifles。　　Whenever　any　of　them　drew　near　to　our　wagon　I
  could　see　that　their　faces；　under　the　dust；　were　drawn　and　anxious
  like　my　father's。　　And　my　father；　like　them；　had　a　long…barrelled
  rifle　close　to　hand　as　he　drove。
  Also；　to　one　side；　limped　a　score　or　more　of　foot…sore；　yoke…galled；
  skeleton　oxen；　that　ever　paused　to　nip　at　the　occasional　tufts　of
  withered　grass；　and　that　ever　were　prodded　on　by　the　tired…faced
  youths　who　herded　them。　　Sometimes　one　or　another　of　these　oxen
  would　pause　and　low；　and　such　lowing　seemed　as　ominous　as　all　else
  about　me。
  Far；　far　away　I　have　a　memory　of　having　lived；　a　smaller　lad；　by　the
  tree…lined　banks　of　a　stream。　　And　as　the　wagon　jolts　along；　and　I
  sway　on　the　seat　with　my　father；　I　continually　return　and　dwell　upon
  that　pleasant　water　flowing　between　the　trees。　　I　have　a　sense　that
  for　a