The high, barred window of Oliver Wolfe's cell opened to the east. At that window, his bearded face pressed against the bars, his eyes longingly watching the dim shape of Buffalo Mountain fade into the night, stood Oliver Wolfe. He did this every evening now, watched Buffalo Mountain, which was hardly more than a foothill, fade into the night.
Came the sound of footfalls in the corridor, and he turned his head. Just beyond the iron-latticed door, he saw the shapes of two tall men. A key grated in the lock, and he heard a voice.
"I'd like to be alone with him, Sheriff Starnes."
"Certainly, Mr. Mason," the officer answered courteously. "Call me when you want to go out."
The door opened and closed, the key grated in the lock again, and Oliver Wolfe stood face to face with his brother.
"Why did they put you here, Oliver?"
"For a-provin' I was the best man in town, surlily."
"I see. Assault and battery."
"With attemp' to kill," the prisoner added with a certain pride. "'Leven months and twenty-nine days, and eight o' the days done gone."