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ean helped him; getting his feet to go where they belonged and then yanking the trousers up; doing the fly; and snapping the waistband。。 Wharton only stood there; not even trying to help once he saw that Dean was doing it for him。 He stared vacantly across the room; hands lax; and it didn't occur to any of them that he was shamming。 Not in hopes of escape (at least I don't believe that was it) but only in hopes of making the maximum amount of trouble when the right time came。
The papers were signed。 William Wharton; who had bee county property when he was arrested; now became the state's property。 He was taken down the back stairs and through the kitchen; surrounded by bluesuits。 He walked with his head down and his long…fingered hands dangling。 The first time his cap fell off; Dean put it back on him。 The second time; he just tucked it into his own back pocket。
He had another chance to make trouble in the back of the stagecoach; when they were shackling him; and didn't。 If he thought (even now I'm not sure if he did; or if he did; how much); he must have thought that the space was too small and the numbers too great to cause a satisfactory hooraw。 So on went the chains; one set running between his ankles and another set too long; it turned out; between his wrists。
The drive to Cold Mountain took an hour。 During that whole time; Wharton sat on the lefthand bench up by the cab; head lowered; cuffed hands dangling between his knees。 Every now and then h