FREEDOM BEHIND BARS
In the early afternoon the little cavalcade rode into Dry Lake. Rathburn was nodding in his saddle, nearly asleep.
“We’ll keep him here to-night till I can get the facts straight,” he heard Sheriff Neal say to Brown.
They dismounted at a small square stone building with bars on the windows. Then Rathburn was proudly led between a line of curious spectators into jail.
Three rooms comprised Dry Lake’s jail. The front of the building, for a depth of a third of the distance from the front to the rear, was divided into two of these rooms; one, the larger, being the main office, and the other, much smaller, being the constable’s private office. The balance of the building was one large room, divided into two old-fashioned cages with iron and steel bars. The doors to these cages were on either side of the door into the front office and there was an aisle between the cages and the wall separating them from the offices.
Rathburn was taken immediately to the cage on the left of the office door. Sheriff Neal hesitated as he stood in the cell with him, thought for a minute, then removed the handcuffs.
“That’s right fine of you, sheriff,” said Rathburn sleepily, but cheerfully, nevertheless.
“Oh, you’ll be watched well enough,” said Neal as he closed the barred door behind him and locked Rathburn in. “You’ll find somebody around if you try to tear the place down.”
“That wasn’t just what I was getting at, sheriff,” said the prisoner with a glitter in his eyes. “I meant it was right fine of you to give me freedom behind the bars.”