Skeeter smiled at the irony of it all. Congratulating him on a life sentence! The judge was leaving the bench, and the jury had been discharged. The room still buzzed with conversation, and Skeeter heard one man say:
“—— such a judge! He ain’t got guts enough to hang a sheep-herder!”
Skeeter turned and looked at this man. He was a small, thin-faced, almost chinless person with close-set eyes and a broken nose. His eyes dropped under Skeeter’s stare, and he turned away, walking with arms bent stiffly at the elbow and with a peculiar swaying motion.
“That’s Kales,” said Freel as Skeeter turned back. “He’s a gunman. I think he is working for some of the cattle outfits.”
Skeeter nodded.
“I’ve heard of him. Feller told me that Kales never missed his man. He will—some day. They all do.”
Freel took Skeeter back to his cell and locked him in.
“When do we make the trip?” asked Skeeter.
“I dunno.”
Freel shook his head.