A Time for Hanging by Bill Crider Page B

saddle and rode back to the jail, where Jack Simkins was waiting.
    "How's the boy?" Vincent asked when he had tied his horse to the rail.
    "Not doin' so good," Jack said.   "He's scared."
    "Don't blame him much," Vincent said.   "I'd be sacred, too."
    "You ain't gonna let 'em hang him, are you?" Simkins said.
    Vincent walked past him and into the cramped office.   He opened a desk drawer and put the sacks and the piece of dress inside.   "I don't intend to let them," he said.   "Maybe they won't try."
    "They'll try, all right," Jack said.   "We gotta stop 'em."   His face was set in a determined expression that emphasized the strangeness of his features.  
    Vincent hardly noticed the glass eye and the scar anymore, having to gotten used to them over the years, but there were no doubt some who still found Jack's appearance pretty unusual
    It wasn't something that the deputy liked to talk about, and although Vincent knew the whole story, he wasn't sure how many of the townspeople did.   Jack was prone to tell different versions.
    "Lost it one time while breakin' a bronc," he might say.   Or he might tell about the time he got in a little squabble with a grizzly bear over which one of them was going to cross a creek on a narrow log.      
    Whichever version he told, Jack always said that he liked being a deputy.   He was tired of his old life and looking for something a little less strenuous.   Somehow he had drifted into Dry Springs about the time Vincent had become sheriff and had gotten himself hired on as the only deputy, another job he had showed little natural talent for.   However, since there was rarely any call for extraordinary law-enforcement ability in Dry Springs, he had managed to hang on to the job.
    Vincent was surprised that he was taking such an interest in Paco Morales.   Jack was usually looking for ways to avoid doing anything rather than ways to prevent trouble.
    "What's got into you, Jack?" he said.   "You got some kind of a special interest in that boy?"
    Jack took off his hat and wiped the sweat band with his dirty bandana.   He put the bandanna back in his pocket and settled the hat on his head.
    "Nope," he said.   "I just hate to see him get railroaded."
    Vincent sat in the chair behind the desk.   "I got to ask you somethin', Jack."
    "What's that?"
    "Did you beat on that boy along with the rest of them?"
    Jack looked at the floor, remembering the previous night.   Finally he looked up.   "Nope," he said.   "I didn't."
    "That's good," Vincent said, relaxing a little.
    "But I stood there and watched 'em," Jack said.   "Sheriff, I coulda stopped 'em if I'd just pulled my gun on 'em, but I didn't do it.   I let 'em beat that boy to within an inch of his life, and I just watched.   There wasn't nothin' he could to against all those men, and I let 'em hit him like that."
    "I'm not sure there was anything you could've done, Jack.   You didn't let 'em hang him.   Remember that."
    Jack did not seem reassured.   "You better talk to the boy," he said.   "It might make him feel better."
    Vincent got up and went back to the cells.   Paco was still lying on the cot, staring at the ceiling.
    "You feel like you could eat somethin'?" Vincent asked.
    Paco shook his head.
    "How about some water?"
    "Yes," Paco said.   "Water would be good."
    Vincent brought the bucket and dipper.   Paco sat up and drank thirstily.
    "Look, Paco," Vincent said when the boy had finsihed drinking.   "This looks pretty bad for you, but maybe we could do something about it.   If you saw anybody there last night, anybody who could say you didn't kill the girl, you could get out of this.   Or if you didn't kill her, maybe you saw who did."
    "I didn't see anyone," Paco said wearily.   He sounded like a man who had already given up all hope.   "I thought I heard someone once, but I was scared.   I ran."
    "There's a lot of men in town who are sayin' they saw you do it," Vincent told him.
    "Then they are