Shorty’s letter to Judge Powers brought one of his office men out to see me the next day, who got the points in my case and went away with one hundred dollars of Shorty’s money. I felt better after his visit, he was so fresh, vigorous, confident. “Nothing to it, young man,” he said breezily, “I’ll be in court when you appear to plead and have a day set for your trial; that is, if they want to waste their time trying you.”

I went back into the prison yard with his card in my hand and gave it to Shorty. He passed it to George and then to Sanc.

“I know him,” Sanc said. “He is in Powers’ firm. Powers will tell him what to do. You are all right. True, he is but a second-class man, but that’s not so bad. These second-class lawyers can skin a first-class bunko man any day in the week. I see no reason why he cannot skin a third-class judge in a territorial court.”

I soon saw that these three cellmates of mine practically controlled the inside of the prison. They had brains and character backed by courage and the valuable background of a reputation for doing things outside.