The Wyandotte herald. (Wyandotte, Mich.) 1879-1943, 1940-06-28
ParOled
By G.. Nj. SASSAMAN
Mcclure syndicate-wNU serviceJ

rake to mop the sweat from his
wrinkled face. To the left, four
fields away, the stone towers of the
farm prison glinted in the rays OF
a setting sun. A hundred yards to
the right a careless old guard, back
turned to the "con," leaned as II
asleep over the low wooden fence.
His rifle stood against a post beside
him.
They had come out to the outlying
field to finish raking up, No. 670O
and the guard. That is. old Bill
Morag to WELD the rake and Tim
ODowd the rifle.
1t had always been that way with
Bill Morag-always someone stand
ing guard.
Years of harsh discipline had
tanned Morag-years in which ne
had struggled vainly against the
shackles society imposes upon its
incorrigibles. Age creeping stealth
lily upon him, had taught him the
wisdom of penal obedience.
On the prison farm things hadn't
been so bad, and the guards treat
ed prisoners like human beings.
He had only two more years to go,
had Morag-unless he received a
parole. Parole? His past infrac-
tons had forever doomed the hope
of leniency. He'd have to pay up IN
full.
At any rate, the prison farm was
the best thing yet.
No. 6780 put his handkerchief back
in his pocket and looked off across
the fields.
The convict couldn't help thinking
how easy it would be to drop his
rake and run. A glance toward
O'Dowd showed the old guard still
leaning over the fence-like sea-
sick steamship passenger bending
over the lee rail.
He might get clear across the ad-
joining field before the gray-haired
Irishman turned around. He'd be
almost out of range then, and
maybe he'd reach the highway.
Morag wasn't really considering
these things seriously. He was
only toying with thoughts, as bank
clerk surrounded with stacks of
money might toy with the thought
of grabbing them up and making
for the street The convict, many
times in the past, could have over
powered the guard and escaped.
Morag tried to resume his raking,
but the clean smell of the hay
seemed a challenge, inarticulate yet
disturbing.
The rake handle dropped unheed-
ed from his hands. With fingers
convulsing at his sides, Morag
moved slowly toward the uncon-
scious guard, slowly, as if the awful
ness of his intent were like ball
and chain dragging against the for
ward thrust of his feet.
There was no furtiveness in the
convict's advance. The dry brown
grass stubbles swished peevishly
against his heavy shoes as the swing
of his legs bent them forward and
down.
O'Dowd did not turn around at
his approach Without a glance at
the aged guard, Morag made
straight for the post against which
the heavy rifle leaned. He picked
up the weapon. hefted it in his
hands a moment, then let the
stock drop to the ground. For an
other moment he stood swaying
upon his feet, indeciSion mirrored
in every line of his dropping figure,
an agony of yearning wistfulness in
his eyes.
His next act seemed charged
with haste, as if his muscles had
responded TO some other command
than an impulse of the will. For,
with suddenness that seemed to
spring from no volition of the mind.
he thrust the rifles muzzle to his
own head and his thumb pushed
back the trigger.
odillCJ OdCh III his
chair and looked at the convict, who
stood uneasily at the edge of the
desk.
And you saw old O'Dowd was
dead when you went to take a car
fridge out O. his belt?" he prompted.
You thought it was heat prostra-
tion-but it was his heart, and he'd
been dead for hours
The other tried to interrupt. but
the warden barged on. Don't tell
mel" he snorted. Il knew about
his heart just as wells | knew he
always carried his gun empty. And
then when you saw he was dead
you knew it was useless to fire a
signal"
He rose suddenly and placed an
arm coaxingly around the cow CT S
shoulders. "Old timer" he said.
and there was a curious pleading
in the warden's voice, this is more
than just job to me. It's a pur-
pose-this place where I'm irving
to build whole men out O. wreck
age"
His eyes Strayed through the vim