Not a face meant anything to him but be knew, instinctively,
that they were the chosen bad men of the past twenty years.
"So you're Joe Cumber?"
The sheriff turned in his swivel chair and tossed his cigarette butt
through the open window.
"What can I do for you?"
"I got an idea, sheriff, that maybe you'd sort of like to have my picture."
The sheriff looked up from his study of the card, and having looked up his
eyes remained riveted. The other no longer cringed with embarrassment, but
every line of his body breathed a great happiness. He was like one who has
been riding joyously, with a sharp wind in his face.
There was a distant rushing of feet, a pounding on the door of the next
room.
"What's that?" muttered the sheriff, his attention called away.
"They want me."
"Wait a minute," called the voice of Billy without.
"I'll open the door. By God, it's locked!"
"They want me--five feet nine or ten, slender, black hair and brown
eyes--"
"Barry!"
"Glass, I've come for you."
"And I'm ready. And I'll say this"--he was standing, now, and his nervous
hands were at his sides--"I been hungerin' and hopin' for this time to
come.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263