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Edward D. Davis was born in the northern part of Wales, November 16, 1846, and came with his parents to Johnstown, Pennsylvania at an early age. Here he grew to manhood, receiving a common school education. In 1863 he enlisted in the hundred-day service, and in 1864 re-enlisted in the Eighty-third Pennsylvania volunteer infantry, and served to the close of the war. He was married May 10, 1871 to Miss Elizabeth Rees, also a native of Wales. His father died in 1883, and his mother in 1889, a victim of the Johnstown flood. In 1878 Mr. and Mrs. Davis came to Clay County, locating at Glenville, where he followed blacksmithing until elected sheriff in 1887. He held the office of sheriff for four terms and was a popular and efficient officer. He was a man of splendid physical power and courage. He was accustomed to deal with


criminals and was fearless in the discharge of his duties. After retiring from the sheriff's office he and Mrs. Davis traveled a great deal. He practically retired from active life except one term as warden of the penitentiary. He retained business interests in Clay Center, being stockholder in the Commercial State Bank of which he was at one time the vice-president. He was a member of the Masons, Odd Fellows and A. O. U. W. At Lancaster, Mr. Davis was well liked by officers and inmates. He believed in strict discipline, firm rules and kind treatment. He and I had many mutual friends working in the mines in Colorado where I formerly operated some mines. He used to drop into the office every night, and we would discuss mining and talk about our Johnstown friends. About eight o'clock he would pull out his watch and say, "It is time for me climb the golden stairs." Then he would go upstairs to his apartments.

Mr. Davis was a great lover of nature, of


flowers and of all that was beautiful in life. Especially was he fond of a little rose tree that grew on the lawn in front of the east cell building. I remember one fall day when he and I were taking a little walk in front of the prison, how he turned towards the beds of flowers and said to me: Well the flowers are fast fading away and the little humming birds too are leaving us. I wonder if we will live to see them next year." I said, "Let us hope so, Warden." For quite a while he did not say anything but we walked in silence. Of what he was thinking I have wondered, and did he have a presentiment of coming evil? I am certain that he did, for often he used to talk with me about the underhanded work done the little band of would-be reformers. Since that time, when I look upon the roses at Lancaster, and see the humming birds, my thoughts wander back to that evening and to my departed friend.



"Did you notice that the deputy warden does not wear a flower this morning?" said Frank, the head janitor of the prison to me, on the morning of Sunday, the eleventh of February, 1912. "It looks strange for it is the first Sunday morning that I have ever seen him without a flower of some sort. I went to the greenhouse and brought in this tuberose. Will you be so kind as to take it upstairs to him?" I took the tuberose, went up to Mr. Davis' apartments, and asked him why he did not wear a flower this morning as usual. He was in fine spirits and replied: "Well, you see these ladies are forgetting me." "Take a look at him and see whether we are forgetting him or not," said Mrs. Davis. "Look at his new suit and the new tie I got him." The deputy warden was well dressed at all times, and this morning he looked especially nice in a new light gray