Barehanded

A huge, rawboned, grim man is Warden Richard Elias Davis of the Utah State Prison. With a firm hand he rules the convicts confined in that strong jail, made doubly strong by the high mountains back of Salt Lake City. Last week Warden Davis heard a bomb go off. Looking out from his office he saw the prison yard suddenly seething with a bloody, vicious riot. A dozen convicts had captured Deputy Warden Giles. Three hundred others were milling in the yard armed with clubs and rocks. Some had guns. Louis Deathridge, a Missouri desperado, ran to the wall with a rope which had a hook on the end. He hurled the hook over the wall, started to climb. A blast of gunfire from the guards above sent Desperado Deathridge spinning. The prisoners in the yard roared with rage, retrieved his body.

A group of convicts armed with knives and bombs made from sections of pipe captured two guards, ordered them to command the others to throw down their guns. They refused. While other guards were telephoning frantically for police and militia the two captured guards stood beleaguered in the yard and infuriated convicts were threatening to strangle them. The mutiny seemed about to succeed.

Out of his office into the yelling mob strolled towering Warden Davis. Above the heads of the rioting convicts his face was grey and grim. They could see he was unarmed, but they also saw he was unafraid. As he shouldered his way forward the yard fell quiet. The convicts loosened their grip on the guards' throats. Quietly, clearly spoke Warden Davis: "You men get back to your cells!"

The armed convicts looked at him in awe. He seemed big enough to subdue them all. They dropped their weapons, turned away, slowly moved back to their cells. One convict was dead, two guards, a deputy warden and two convicts injured. Two of the convicts, life termers, faced death if convicted of attacking a guard. The riot had lasted an hour and a half. Giant Warden Davis wiped his brow, strolled back to his office.

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