the driver of
one of the wagons shooting the two wounded men. The horses of the other
wagon were plunging and rearing and their driver was trying to hold them.

* * * * *

It was when the little boy that was I was running after the Dunlap girls
that blackness came upon him. All memory there ceases, for Jesse Fancher
there ceased, and, as Jesse Fancher, ceased for ever. The form that was
Jesse Fancher, the body that was his, being matter and apparitional, like
an apparition passed and was not. But the imperishable spirit did not
cease. It continued to exist, and, in its next incarnation, became the
residing spirit of that apparitional body known as Darrell Standing's
which soon is to be taken out and hanged and sent into the nothingness
whither all apparitions go.

There is a lifer here in Folsom, Matthew Davies, of old pioneer stock,
who is trusty of the scaffold and execution chamber. He is an old man,
and his folks crossed the plains in the early days. I have talked with
him, and he has verified the massacre in which Jesse Fancher was killed.
When this old lifer was a child there was much talk in his family of the
Mountain Meadows Massacre. The children in the wagons, he said, were
saved, because they were too young to tell tales.

All of which I submit. Never, in my life of Darrell Standing, have I
read a line or heard a word spoken of the Fancher Company that perished
at Mountain Meadows. Yet, in the jacket in San Quentin prison, all this
knowledge came to me. I could not create this knowledge out of nothing,
any more than could I create dynamite out of nothing. This knowledge and
these facts I have related have but one explanation. They are out of the
spirit content of me--the spirit that, unlike matter, does not perish.

In closing this chapter I must state that Matthew Davies also told me
that some years after the massacre Lee was taken by United States
Government officials to the Mountain Meadows and there executed on the
site of our old corral.

CHAPTER XIV

When, at the conclusion of my first ten days' term in the jacket, I was
brought back to consciousness by Doctor Jackson's thumb pressing open an
eyelid, I opened both eyes and smiled up into the face of Warden
Atherton.

"Too cussed to live and too mean to die," was his comment.

"The ten days are up, Warden," I whispered.

"Well, we're going to unlace you," he growled.

"It is not that," I said. "You observed my smile. Y