“Damn right!” someone said from the gallery.
“Hang the son of a bitch!” another added.
Judge Kuntz brought his gavel down sharply. “Order,” he said.
Having finished his closing, and with the case now presented, the judge released the jury for their deliberation.
They were back within an hour.
“Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Kuntz asked the foreman.
“We have, Your Honor.”
Kuntz turned toward the defense table. “Would the defendant and attorney please stand?”
Norton and Tyree stood.
Kuntz turned back toward the foreman of the jury.
“Publish the verdict, Mr. Foreman.”
“Your Honor, on the first charge, the murder of the Poindexters in the first degree, we, the jury, find the defendant, Jefferson Tyree”—the foreman made a long, direct pause before he finished—“not guilty.”
“What?” someone in the courtroom shouted.
“No! This is a travesty!” another yelled.
The entire courtroom broke out into shouts of derision and disapproval.
“Order!” Kuntz said as he repeatedly banged his gavel. “Order!”
He banged the gavel repeatedly.
“I will have order now, or I will clear this court!” he said.
Finally, the court grew quiet, and Kuntz looked toward the foreman.
“As to the second charge of cattle rustling, how do you find?”
“Your Honor, on the charge of cattle rustling, we find the defendant, Jefferson Tyree, guilty as charged.”
“Thank you, Mr. Foreman.”
He turned to the defendant.
“Mr. Tyree. I can understand the jury’s inability to find you guilty of murder due to lack of evidence, or the sworn testimony of an eyewitness. Therefore, I cannot sentence you to hang.”
Tyree smiled broadly.
“Before you get too happy, Mr. Tryee, let me tell you what I am going to do. I am going to sentence you to life in prison.”
“What? For stealing a few cows? You can’t do that,” Tyree complained.
“That’s where you are quite wrong, Mr. Tyree. I can, and I just did,” Judge Kuntz said.
Chapter Two
One year later
When Kyle Pollard came on duty as a guard at the maximum security blockhouse of the State Prison at Cañon City, Colorado, he settled back in his chair, tipped it against the wall, and picked up the notes that had been left by the previous guard.
“Jefferson Tyree is to go to the dispensary at two-thirty today.”
Pollard drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, then let out a long breath.
“Hey, you, Pollard,” one of the prisoners called.
“What do you want?” Pollard called back.
“Is it true Tyree is gettin’ out of here?”
“What?”
“Tyree is saying that his sentence has been commuted by the governor. He says he’s gettin’ out of here today.”
“Tyree is full of it,” Pollard said. “He’s not getting out of here today, or any day, until the day he dies.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think so. But I just thought you’d like to know what he’s tellin’ everyone.”
“So, you’ve told me.”
“Is that worth a chaw of terbaccy?”
Pollard chuckled. “Simmons, you sure you didn’t make all this up just to get a little tobacco?”
“No, sir, I didn’t make none of it up,” Simmons said. “He tole me that he’s gettin’ out of prison today. He says that’s why he’s goin’ to the dispensary. He says the state needs to show that he wasn’t sick or nothin’ when they let him go.”
“It’s nothing of the kind,” Pollard replied. “He’s goin’ to the dispensary to be checked out for cooties, same as ever’one else in the prison.”
“I’m just tellin’ you what he’s tellin’ ever’one is all,” Simmons said.
“Well, that’s not worth anything,” Pollard said. “But I do like you keeping me up with what’s goin’ on, so I guess it’s worth a chew.”
Pollard opened the outer gate, then stepped up to Simmons’s cell to pass a twist of chewing tobacco through the bars.
“Thanks,” Simmons said.
Pollard then walked up and down the length of the corridor looking into all the cells. When he reached Tyree’s cell at about five minutes before he was due at the dispensary, he saw that the prisoner was lying on his bunk with his hands laced behind his head.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“What’s there to getting ready?” Tyree replied. “What am I supposed to do, get all the cooties lined up for the doc?” Tyree laughed at his own joke.
“What’s this I hear about you telling people you’re going to be getting out today?”
Tyree chuckled. “Some folks will believe anything,” he said. “Don’t tell me. Simmons reported it to you and you paid him off with some tobacco. Am I right?”
Pollard chuckled as well. “Yeah, I gave him a small twist.”
Tyree shook his head. “I can’t believe you were dumb enough to fall for that. But then, you are dumb enough to have a job like this, so, I guess it isn’t all that hard to believe.”
“I’m dumb?” Pollard said. “In a couple of hours, I’ll be home with the wife and kids. You’ll still be here.” Pollard sniggered. “In fact, you’ll be here for the rest of your life.”
The smile left Tyree’s face. “So they say,” he said.
“So they say,” Pollard said with a snort. “You damn right, so they say.” He started to unlock the cell, then stopped and looked over at Tyree. “Get up. You know the procedure,” he said.
Tyree was well acquainted with the procedure. He had already been in prison for a year, and this wasn’t the first time he had ever been incarcerated.
“Come on, Tyree, I’m waiting,” Pollard said again, more impatiently than before.
“Yeah, keep your shirt on. I’m movin’ as fast as I can,” Tyree grunted.
Tyree got out of his bunk, then leaned against the wall. Pollard stepped into the cell then, and cuffed Tyree’s hands behind his back. The cuffs were held together with a twelve-inch length of chain.
“All right, Tyree, let’s go,” Pollard said. “You lead the way; you know where the dispensary is.” He pushed Tyree roughly to get him started.
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’, ain’t no need to be a’pushin’ me like that.”
“Come on, let’s go.” He jabbed Tyree with his nightstick again, this time in the small of the back, hard enough to make the killer gasp. “That hurt.”
“Did it now?” Pollard taunted.
They left the cell block and stepped out into the yard. This being the heat of the day, the yard was empty, and as Tyree checked each of the guard towers, he noticed that none of the guards were looking inward; they were all looking out, away from the prison. Just in front of him, Tyree saw a wagon sitting outside the prison commissary. It had just made the two-thirty delivery. Tyree was expecting to see it—in fact, that was why he’d arranged to have his nine o’clock appointment traded with one of the other prisoners.
Suddenly, Tyree stopped and stooped down.
“What are you doing?” Pollard asked. “Stand up.”
“I’ve got a rock in my shoe,” Pollard said.
“Just leave it, you don’t have far to go.”
“It hurts,” Tyree complained. “It’ll just take a second to get it out.”
“All right, but hurry it up,” Pollard said.
“Look up there at the wall. What the hell is Cooper doing, pissing off the wall like that?” Tyree said. “This may be a prison, but we have to live here, and I don’t like it when a guard steps out of the tower and pisses in our yard like that.”