The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1896-06-07
GDOTED GV'

and then he whispered so low that Rita
had to put her ear quite close to his mouth
to catch his words:
There's a reward out for me and my
chum, and you can claim it for handing
us over, don't you see?"
"NeverW exclaimed Rita, emphatically.
''Never!'
But the sick man interrupted her eagerly.
whats the difference?" he said. Gas
soon as the doctor comes I mean to hand
myself over. anyway, and you might as
we'll do it as me and get the. reward. You
see, this last tramp across the prairie has
knocked all the spirit out of me, and my
chum, too, and we made up our minds
while we were hiding there in the grass
yesterday and waiting for your brother to
clear out, that if we didn't get what we
wanted here we would go on to the nearest
town and give ourselves up, and we agreed
if one was caught the other one would go
along too. l have only to whistle and
he'll come fast enough, for he's almost
dead from walking and starving"
Just then there was the sound of horses
feet.
"There comes Ben with the doctor" said
Rita. but before they come l want to
tell you something. l knew who you were
before you told me. l saw your picture
yesterday in the postoffice.
She had not time to observe the effect of
her announcement on the convict, for Ben
and the doctor were entering the room,
and for several hours Rita could think OF
nothing but the pressing needs of each
MT oh ha nh inio in
the tedious and painful operation of prob
ing the wound. When this was accom-
plished and the bullet had been success
fully removed the patient was SO restless
and feverish that Rita again took her
place by the bedside, in spite of the doc
tors assurance that she needed rest. She
only said: II shot him, and I shall take
care of him while he is here"
For days the sick man was too i'll to be
removed without endangering his life, and
whittier could they send him? Rita puz-
zled on this good deal, and she had also
on her conscience the other convict whom
she knew to be hiding somewhere in the
neighborhood. But at last her patient set
tied the matter in his own way.
One morning the good old doctor came
out of the sickroom looking very grave.
He found Rita alone.
II think" he said, 'that our patient
could be removed within day or two with
out risk, and have been asking where he
wishes to be sent" He paused moment
and then continued, looking keenIy at
Rita, who had dropped her eyes, His an
swer was a strange one, Miss Rita. He
said, ASK Miss Allison, she knows who
am and where / ought to CO.
There was painful silence which Rita
knew that she must be the first to break,
bat somehow the words seemed to choke
her.
II understand your silence" said the
physician at last, land l believe that I re-
spect ana like you the better for it. You
need not speak, for [ suspected from the
very first the identity of your guest, so
you see you are not betraying the poor
fellow. And besides" he added pityingly,
''he is anxious to return to jail"
Rita was crying softly and the kind old
doctor laid his hand on her bowed head.
az was stranger and We took me in,
naked and ye clothed me, sick and in
prison and we visited me, >" he said, SOL
EMMY. Truly, say unto you, mas
| much as We have done it unto one of the
least of these my brethren, we have done
4 it unto me-
Months later, when Rita Allison was
painting pictures, in Paris, there would
sometimes steal across her canvas another
picture, duller in tone than the one upon
which she was at work-a picture of q
gray-haired man in a prison uniform, who
limped as he walked, breaking stone in a
gray quarry und er leaden sky.