The narrative of John Doy, of Lawrence, Kansas ...: Printed for the author.

THE SHERIFF'S viFlS
The next morning he was discharged, as I had expected,
and departed, taking my letter with him.
Two or three nights afterwards, about 11 o'clock, the
sheriff came into the jail with the jailer and the deputy U.
S. marshal of Leavenworth City, and accompanied by a
man said to be a brother of the notorious John Calhoun, a
clerk at Liberty, Missouri-all pretty well lined with whisky-and with suppressed passion held out to me a copy of
the Leavenworth Times, asking me if I wrote that letter.
By the light of his candle I saw that it was my letter to
Vaughan, which he had published. I answered "Yes,"
and told them that if they had come in the day-time they
could have satisfied themselves about the condition we
were in.
"What did you write such lies for?"
"I wrote nothing but the truth."
"Do you mean to say it is true you have no water to
wash with."
"Yes."
" De Bard," said the sheriff, turning to the jailer, "he
says it is true that they have no water to wash with."
"It's a d d lie."
"Oh I " said I; "you know nothing about it. Call your
boy" —his son, about nineteen years old, who tended the
prisoners in the jail.
"Now, John," I continued, when the boy came, "tell
sheriff Bryant if we haven't begged you every day to give
us water to wash with."
"Well, I suppose you have."
"And how long is it since you brought us any?"
"I don't know."
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