Mules

Mules Near the black mouth of the prison mine at Lansing, Kansas, a kindly warden stood conversing with his deputy, suddenly turned with tautened lips to watch the sullen file of oil-skinned prisoners shuffle down into the shaft. Defiant of 13 unarmed guards, a seared murderer, a slack-jawed pervert, another and another, turned to gaze with loathing at the man who held four of their number captives to be chastised like beasts for complaining at lack of sheets.

Yet as the last felon shambled from view, the warden sat down heavily, reflected he was growing old, gazed vague-eyed at a message handed to him by his deputy. In dirty pencil it read that they had barricaded themselves in the mine, that they held the 13 unarmed guards as hostages, that they would live on mule meat, that they would surrender only on the following conditions:

1) Immediate release of the four men "under special discipline." 2) Promise of immunity from punishment for themselves. 3) Better housing quarters with running water and bath. 4) Three square meals a day.

Wrathful, gimlet-eyed, the warden rose in his might, furiously waved a prison menu,* sent down word they need expect no leniency, added that they would "find the mules pretty tough eating; and, anyhow, it is cheaper to buy more mules than to feed the mutineers."

*The menu: Breakfast-- Rolled oats with milk and sugar, Parker House rolls, butter, coffee and jelly. Dinner--Fried pork chops, cream gravy, mashed potatoes, bread, cottage pudding and coffee. Supper--Cold lunch, ham, stewed fruit, bread and tea.