“What has that got to do with it?”
“He’s crooked. You never see a lot of lambs hobnobbin’ with a coyote, do you?”
Ryker whirled on his heel and left the office.
Wind River Jim chuckled to himself as he uncoiled his length from the creaking old chair and walked over to a cracked mirror on the wall. He looked intently at himself.
“You don’t look crazy to me,” he told himself, “but you must be. Appearances are shore deceptive. But I don’t like that cat-eyed lawyer, and it was a good chance to let him know it. Anybody who didn’t know me would think I was mean as dirt.”
The jail adjoined the sheriff’s office, and there was no exit, except through the sheriff’s office. The front of the jail was a blank wall. At the side and rear were small barred windows, not large enough for a man to crawl through. It was not a well ventilated jail, it is true, but it was built to hold a prisoner.
Roaring Rigby came back a few minutes later, carrying a tray of food for Pete Conley.
“This is your job after this, Wind River,” he said, placing the tray on the desk. “What did you say to Ryker?”
“He wanted to see Pete,” grinned Wind River. “I told him to go to hell.”
Roaring grinned widely.