The sullen young man stood between his guards, his face blooded and bruised, his one good eye, blazing with anger and hate. The fort’s captain sat at his desk and took the time to read the report. Ernie Coats leaned against the wall, observing.
“You are guilty of theft,” Captain Ross said without looking up, “and will be hanged tomorrow morning. Do you have anything to say?”
“To hell with you,” Wallace McCracken spoke through bloody lips.
The Captain nodded and pointed at the door. “Hang him, now.”
“Wait,” Ernest interjected. “He may have value, let me pay his debt.”