The Book of the Bush. George Dunderdale
of three weeks they trickled out one by one. The Deputy Sheriff, Silas, had been one of my pupils; he was now about seventeen years of age, and a model son of the prairies. His features were exceedingly thin, his eyes keen, his speech and movements slow, his mind cool and calculating. He never injured his constitution by any violent exertion; in fact, he seemed to have taken leave of active life and all its worries, and to have settled down to an existence of ease and contemplation. If he had any anxiety about the safe custody of his prisoners he never showed it. He had finished his education, so I did not attempt to control him by moral suasion, or by anything else, but by degrees I succeeded in eliciting from him all the particulars he could impart about the criminals under his care. There was no fence around the gaol, and Silas kept two of them always locked in. He "calkilated they wer kinder unsafe." They belonged to a society of horse thieves whose members were distributed at regular intervals along the prairies, and who forwarded their stolen animals by night to Chicago. The two gentlemen in gaol were of an untrustworthy character, and would be likely to slip away. About a week after my arrival I met Silas coming out of the gaol, and he said:
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