J.T. felt his whole body tense as one of the lawmen turned the key in the lock, opened the wagon door and ordered the prisoners out. He sat where he was told, let them shackle his right hand to the wagon wheel, ate the bacon and beans they served him. And every act of obedience fueled his anger even as he told himself it was necessary—necessary to be submissive, to let them think he was resigned to his fate. Later, the lawmen took the prisoners out into the dark one by one so they could relieve themselves, and then the prisoners were handcuffed to the wagon’s wheels for the night. They took J.T. last. He stared into the darkness, quietly cursing the shackles that rattled with his every move. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the two guards standing a few yards away, their heads together as they shared a cigarette. The temptation to run was strong within him, but now wasn’t the time, he decided, not with two armed lawmen watching his every move, and four more standing near the fire.
