The man who picked it up read the letter before returning it to the pocket. He began at once to whisper the news. The subject was discussed back and forth among the men on the quiet. Sanders guessed they had discovered who he was, but he waited for them to move. His years in prison had given him at least the strength of patience. He could bide his time.
They went to the contractor. He reasoned with them.
"Does his work all right, doesn't he? Treats you all civilly. Doesn't force himself on you. I don't see any harm in him."
"We ain't workin' with no jail bird," announced the spokesman.
"He told me the story and I've looked it up since. Talked with the lawyer that defended him. He says the man Sanders killed was a bad lot and had stolen his horse from him. Sanders was trying to get it back. He claimed self-defense, but couldn't prove it."
"Don't make no difference. The jury said he was guilty, didn't it?"
"Suppose he was. We've got to give him a chance when he comes out, haven't we?"
Some of the men began to weaken. They were not cruel, but they were children of impulse, easily led by those who had force enough to push to the front.
"I won't mix cement with no convict," the self-appointed leader announced flatly. "That goes."
The contractor met him eye to eye. "You don't have to, Reynolds. You can get your time."