“When will this hyer write-up come out?” said the jailer, flattered and interested.
“In two weeks, if I can get the copy in on time, and I think I can. I’ve got to look at the prisons at Deming and Nueces first; but that can be done yet this week.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Simply conduct me through the prison, or such parts of it as you wish to show me; and I’d like a look at some of the most notorious of the prisoners you’ve got in here. A little spicy talk about them will help to give my write-up the necessary tang.”
Shepard didn’t know what “tang” was, but it sounded well. So he tumbled.
He got out of his comfortable chair, grumbling a little, but more than ever pleased, for he had the usual vanity of men of his class; and a few minutes later he was piloting Mr. Osgood Fleming—that was the name on the card—through the prison of Blossom Range.
It was a new prison, with strong walls; as good as could be found within five hundred miles; Shepard knew that, and was proud of it. Proud he was, likewise, of the fact that he was the sheriff of the county, and by virtue of it keeper of this magnificent jail.
“We’ve got a mighty fine assortment of jailbirds in hyer right now,” he said, warming up under the influence of the ingratiating manner of the polite little man. “Road agents, murderers, horse thieves—y’ can’t name any of that class o’ criminals we ain’t got. Last one put in was Juniper Joe. He was the real ringer out of all of ’em; took the hull blamed town in in the neatest way y’ could ever think of.”
He had to tell the whole story, it seemed so good to him, even if it was at the expense of Blossom Range.
The narrative so interested the little man that he insisted he must see this “graceless scamp,” and, if possible, have a talk with him.