He said, ’Why?’
She returned to him. ‘Because you’re dirty and beaten and don’t care—and because none of that can hide what you are.’
‘You’re crazy,’ he muttered tiredly.
She smiled. ‘That’s what they say about you. So we have something in common.’
He swore, foully.
Unperturbed, she said, ‘You can’t hide behind that either. Now listen to me. Two men will come to see you this afternoon. One is a doctor. The other is a lawyer. We’ll have you out of here this evening.’
He raised his head and for the first time something came into his lethargic face. Whatever it was was not pretty. His voice came from deep in his chest. He growled, ‘What type doctor?’
‘For your arm,’ she said evenly. ‘Not a psychiatrist. You’ll never have to go through that again.’
He let his head drop back. His features slowly lost their expression. She waited and when he had nothing else to offer, she turned and called the sheriff.
It was not too difficult. The sentence was sixty days for malicious mischief. There had been no alternative fine offered. The lawyer rapidly proved that there should have been, and the fine was paid. In his clean new bandages and his filthy clothes, Barrows was led out past the glowering sheriff, ignoring him and his threat as to what the dirty bum could expect if he ever showed up in town again.