In the light of the swinging lanterns, a
lurid spectacle. Our man was taken out and chained in with the gang.
They clanked away down the stairs, leaving us who remained with heavy
chains on our hope instead of on our necks and hands and legs ...
because of the sight we had just seen. For the passing day or so we were
so depressed that we wandered about saying nothing to each other, like
dumb men.
* * * * *
One after the other the men had true bills found against them, and
little slips of folded paper were thrust in to them through the bars of
their cells. And shyster lawyers who fatten on the misfortunes of the
prison-held being, began to hold whispered conversations (and
conferences) from without, mainly to find out just how much each
prisoner could raise for fees for defence....
Bud and I were the only ones left. All the others had had true bills
found against them.
* * * * *
But there came an afternoon when the big, hulky sheriff, with the cruel,
quizzical eyes, came to the back bars of our cell and summoned us up
with a mysterious air....
"Well, boys," he began, pausing to squirt a long, brown stream of
tobacco juice, "well, boys--" and he paused again.
My nerves were so on edge that I controlled with difficulty a mad
impulse to curse at the sheriff for holding us in such needless
suspense.
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