“What right did that son of a bitchin’ Mescan have to whip us? He lay there seething, which did not help his physical condition any. He thought about Sam, wondered if maybe they’d taken him out and shot him by now, figuring that they’d not risk letting another escape their puny jail. He fretted over Sam terribly. His own guilt was like a sharp rock in his belly. He slept that night with a head-ful of bad dreams, of seeing Sam hanging from a tree, of the stabbed girl laughing at them, of his fles...h being chewed by dogs. He awoke to a stream of morning light angling in through the barred window above his head. Then heard the door to the jail open and the clomp of boots. It was the old lawman bringing him another tray of food, covered with a cheesecloth to keep the flies off. Ira slid the tray under the door and stood back and watched Billy eat. Goddamn but it tasted good, a thick slice of fried ham, fried potatoes, two corn dodgers, and a scoop of applesauce. “My missus fixed it,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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