Not a face meant anything to him but he knew, instinctively, that they were the chosen bad men of the past twenty years.
"So you're Joe Cumber ?" The sheriff turned in his swivel chair and tossed his cigarette butt through the open window.
"What can I do for you ?" "I got an idea, sheriff, that maybe you'd sort of like to have my picture." The sheriff looked up from his study of the card, and having looked up his eyes remained riveted.

The other no longer cringed with embarrassment, but every line of his body breathed a great happiness.
He was like one who has been riding joyously, with a sharp wind in his face.
There was a distant rushing of feet, a pounding on the door of the next room.
"What's that ?" muttered the sheriff, his attention called away.
"They want me." "Wait a minute," called the voice of Billy without.
"I'll open the door.

By God, it's locked!" "They want me--five feet nine or ten, slender, black hair and brown eyes--" "Barry!" "Glass, I've come for you." "And I'm ready.

And I'll say this"-- he was standing, now, and his nervous hands were at his sides--"I been hungerin' and hopin' for this time to come.

Barry, before you die, I want to thank you!" "You've followed me like a skunk," said Barry, "from the time you killed a hoss that had never done no harm to you.