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
When Kyle Pollard came on duty as a guard at the maximum security blockhouse of the State Prison at Canon 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
