Even in his scant two and a half days at the Wyoming State Penitentiary, the Kid had heard whispers about the all too common punishment of hanging a man by his hands. In front of each cell was a metal bracket that supported the walkway leading to the cells above it. Each bracket had holes in it through which thongs were strung and tied around the man's hands, suspending him about a foot above the floor. As the man hung, if he had merited particularly severe punishment, the entire population of the cells would parade by and have the opportunity to berate and abuse the man.
Now the Kid was the last in line of all the inmates of the Wyoming State Penitentiary to pass by a man from the other cell block who was hanging from the supports in front of his cell. The Kid was puzzled by what he heard. There was a low buzz of whispers, both from the men at the front of the line, and passing among the men in line. The whispers stopped when they got to the man in front of the Kid. It was evident that he, personally, was not meant to hear what was being said.
But one thing was clear. The men weren't yelling at or abusing the hanging man, although their guards had given them explicit permission and even encouragement to do so. He couldn't tell what they were saying, as far back as he was in line, but he could tell that it wasn't hostile. For a gathering of frustrated criminals not to be abusing a helpless man was sufficiently unusual for the Kid to stare and listen in real curiosity. This was the first time that he had seen his fellow prisoners united in anything but fear. After the hard day Curry had had, he could really use any new that would give him hope that not every aspect of this imprisoned life was brutal.
As the Kid finally approached near enough to see the hanging man himself, the Kid got a shock, but only a mild one. It was Heyes. The Kid sighed. He had fetched a few punches and switch blows since his arrival at penitentiary, but Heyes had come in for a troubling amount of punishment. Outside, it had been the Kid who had found his way into fights as he stood up for the oppressed. Here, for reasons that he couldn't figure out, it was almost always Heyes. The man seemed nearly forced into it. How much were they going to do to his partner before they were done?
But Curry noticed a curious thing. Heyes wasn't really hanging by his thumbs - there was no tension on the thongs. As the Kid came closer, he could see what was happening. As each man came to Heyes, he supported his fellow prisoner up around his knees so that there was little or no pressure on his thumbs. The men did it smoothly, handing Heyes from man to man with perfect coordination; it was clear that they had done this before. Somehow, the whole prison population had managed to organize themselves to save one of their fellows from as much suffering as they could.
And as the Kid grew even closer, he could tell that Heyes was saying something to each man, although he couldn't hear what it was. He could hear some of what the men were saying to Heyes, although there were also low, quick whispers that he couldn't hear. But he did hear "You sure don't deserve this – we won't let you down, Heyes!" "Don't worry, Heyes – we're all watching your back!" The Kid was touched. The men knew who Heyes was and they held nothing against him. Not even the men like Crum, who had evidently sold out, let Heyes down. They all supported him – literally. For the first time since he and his partner had arrived in this hard place, the Kid smiled.
Now Curry, the last man in line, was coming next to Heyes. The man in front of him in line turned and smiled back at the Kid, showing clearly that the support felt for Heyes also extended to his partner. The man showed the Kid how to support his partner firmly around the knees to keep him safe for the space of one man longer. Heyes smiled down at the Kid and began to chuckle softly.
The Kid looked up at his partner and said, shaking his head with a little grin, "Partner, you have finally lost it. After all this damn place has done to you, and I've heard tell of more'n you've told me, it has gotten to you."
"No, Kid," said Heyes softly, so the nearby guards might not hear, or at least not understand how important what they were talking about was, "I don't think so."
"Then why are you laughing while you're hanging there? Tell me that," said Curry, a little sourly.
"'Cause I've figured it out, Kid! I can't believe I couldn't see if before. But, late or not, I've finally figured it out!" said Heyes very softly, but smiling triumphantly.
"Figured what out?" the Kid whispered, not sure, of the various mysteries besetting them, what his partner meant. He had to shift his balance to keep his partner supported and not really hanging painfully.
Now Heyes looked more serious, and he could see that the Kid would have to let him down soon. He was a considerable weight for a tired man to support. "You know what! Numbers? Three? Don't want to mess it up now – so close! So close! I can't tell you straight out."
"That's enough, Curry! Move on and let him down!" said a surly guard.
"Sorry, partner!" whispered the Kid as he let his partner down as gently as possible to begin the real punishment.
The Kid walked down the hall and looked back at his partner, more than a little concerned about what would go on when he couldn't see or control it.
Heyes breathed hissing through his teeth as he hung, his arms extended. He turned slightly, helplessly, as he hung. He avoided the glances of the men as they walked past him coming back from the kitchen with their dinners. He could smell the food. His stomach, never full here, growled uneasily. He felt, in addition to uncomfortable physically, extremely silly to be hanging there. There was certainly no way to hide.
The pain wasn't too bad, but it was getting gradually worse as the strain on his wrist and arm joints increased. His arms were tingling and then began to go to sleep. As the guards came to gather up the men's empty dishes, they stared at Heyes, some with compassion and some with a sick satisfaction. This place did things to men – and not just to inmates.
As Heyes hung there, both bored and in increasing pain, he became aware that someone was standing behind him. He didn't dare to say anything and he was unable to turn around. He could sense the silent presence and began to wonder who it was. A hostile guard? Johnson himself?
A stout, suited form finally stepped in front of Heyes. "Mr. Heyes, what are you doing up there?" the man asked, sounding a bit peeved.
Heyes looked resentfully at the warden who was in charge of the whole prison. This was the man whose lack of knowledge of control over what happened in his own prison was causing not only Heyes himself, but so many men, such trouble and pain. Heyes did not answer the question, unsure of whether he was being trapped into courting more punishment by speaking.
"My apologies, Mr. Heyes!" said the warden, actually sounding sorry in his condescending way, "you may speak freely."
Heyes spoke softly, though he had no real hope of keeping what he would say from the constantly patrolling guards and, of course, the listening rows of inmates. "Thank you, Warden," said Heyes, restraining the sarcasm that he felt tempted to use, "Mr. Johnson had me put here and said I should stay until he remembered to have them get me down."
"Mr. Johnson? And what cause did he have to do that, Mr. Heyes?" The warden sounded surprisingly upset at this.
Heyes' voice grew hard. "He said that I threatened him. It's a lie! Unless he meant that I threatened not to help him with whatever scheme he has in mind! He asked me to work for him and had me strung up here when I refused. He's working on something outside the law, Warden. He wants my help. He won't get it. My partner and I went straight and we mean it."
The warden stared at Heyes in shock and fury for some time before he could get himself under control enough to speak. "That is an extremely serious accusation, Mr. Heyes. I assume that you have proof of it?"
"Of course, I cannot prove what he said to me in his office!" Heyes spat out resentfully, "But I have ample evidence of his illegal and unethical activities in this prison!"
"Can you give me that evidence?" asked the Warden, in disbelief. "I have heard many accusations against Mr. Johnson for his, um, firm means of discipline. But no one has ever before offered any proof of actual wrong-doing."
Heyes kept his voice level and soft, hoping no guards would hear, "I can offer you plenty of proof. But I can't discuss it until tomorrow afternoon."
"What not until then?" the warden was worried. His shifted from foot to foot as if he was as uncomfortable as Heyes was getting to be.
"I'll tell you then. Not before the afternoon! And Warden, could you please get me down from here? These thongs are starting to chafe!" Heyes kept his sense of humor even hanging in mid-air. Chafing was the least of his worries at the moment!
"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed the warden, disconcerted. He really had forgotten how much distress Heyes was in. The warden, "Guards! Cut this man down immediately! Make sure that he is as comfortable as possible. Then get him some dinner and a hot bath. It is Saturday night! He needs to be clean for church in the morning."
Two guards went to get step stools that they kept handy for such purposes. To Heyes they seemed to take forever going to get the stool and bringing them back. Then the pair climbed up and cut Heyes down. He fell heavily to his knees, and sat for a while working the blood back into his arms and rubbing where the thongs had, indeed, chafed him.
"Are you in pain, Mr. Heyes? Do you need to go to the hospital?" asked the warden, bending over his currently most troublesome inmate in concern.
"No, not really, Warden. It's not too bad, if I can just get a chance to rest," said Heyes, rubbing his hands and wrists ruefully. "But for a lot of men around here, it has been and it is very bad. Because of Mr. Johnson."
"I promise to begin an official government investigation into his conduct immediately, Mr. Heyes," said the Warden solemnly. "But I will require your evidence if it is to be effective. And Heyes, I saw how your fellow prisoners supported you - literally! That speaks well for you and I will bear it in mind."
"Thank you, Warden! You will have my full cooperation, so long as I have your assurance of my and my partner's safety." said Heyes, "And I do appreciate the food and the bath!"
"Naturally, you are safe so long as you are here!" said the warden, self-righteously. Heyes could hardly keep from openly contradicting the man. As someone just being released from torture, if pretty mild torture, Heyes knew well that he had no guarantee whatsoever of security.
Heyes noticed that a guard who had been hiding in a shadow around the corner from the last cell hurried away down the hall. He must have heard every word of Heyes' conversation with the Warden. He was surely going to report this to Mr. Johnson. The cell block warden would be far from pleased. Heyes only wished that he could get word to the Kid to watch himself. But he doubted that the Kid needed the warning – the man had too much sense.
As the stout warden retreated nervously toward the office where he spent far too much of his time, Heyes thought to himself, "Boy, there's a great comfort. An official government investigation! By what I read in the newspapers, that's one of the slowest processes in creation! The Kid and I could be dead of old age before he finishes that!"
Later that night, Heyes lay in the darkness, fed, clean, and feeling much better after a nice hot bath that had soothed his aching limbs. He was finally back in his cell with Smith. His cell mate had welcomed him gladly. Heyes little upper bunk with its thin mattress seemed a miracle of comfort after solitary confinement, driving railroad spikes, and hanging by his thumbs.
Heyes tossed and turned, plagued with worries. What if he was wrong about the solution he had come up with to Senator Warren's cryptic telegram? What if his overconfidence put the Kid and himself in danger? He and the Kid still had to make it through until at least the following afternoon – through whatever Johnson could devise to stop them. They might make it so long as Johnson didn't know why the time of tomorrow afternoon was so important. Even if Heyes was right and Johnson didn't get them before the afternoon, it seemed to Heyes, things for himself in particular were surely not what he could wish. He thought of Beth and wished that he could be free and holding her right then.