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circumstances； the governor undoubtedly would have demanded someone's head on a platter； but not this time。 His nephew by marriage … his wife's own blood kin … had gone crackers and killed a man。 Had killed a killer … there was that； at least； and thank God for it … but Percy had still shot the man as he lay sleeping in his cell； which was not quite sporting。 When you added in the fact that the young man in question remained just as mad as a March hare； you could understand why the governor only wanted it to go away； and as soon as possible。
Our trip to Warden Moores's house in Harry Terwilliger's truck never came out。 The fact that Percy had been straitjacketed and locked in the restraint room during the time we were away never came out。 The fact that William Wharton had been doped to the gills when Percy shot him never came out； either。 Why would it？ The authorities had no reason to suspect anything in Wharton's system but half a dozen slugs。 The coroner removed those； the mortician put him in a pine box； and that was the end of the man with Billy the Kid tattooed on his left forearm。 Good riddance to bad rubbish； you might say。
All in all； the uproar lasted about two weeks。 During that time I didn't dare fart sideways； let alone so take a day off to investigate the idea I'd gotten at my kitchen table on the morning after all the upheavals。 I knew for sure that the circus had left town when I got to work on a day just shy of the middle of November … the twelft
