They moved down the corridor, and the prisoner came up to the bars, his eyes wide, jaw sagging. For a long time he stared into space, licking his dry lips with a drier tongue. Then he rested his hot forehead against the cool metal of the bars.
“Yessir,” he said bitterly. “It’s the first time in my life I ever agreed with a deputy sheriff. Solomon, in all his wisdom, never made a wiser statement.”
THE END
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the May 19, 1928 issue of Western Story Magazine.