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Harry
Terwilliger
was
technically
in
charge
of
the
expedition
.
He
handed
his
paperwork
over
to
the
county
sheriff
(
not
Homer
Cribus
but
some
other
elected
yokel
like
him
,
I
imagine
)
,
who
in
turn
handed
over
Mr.
William
Wharton
,
hellraiser
extraordinaire
,
as
Delacroix
might
have
put
it
.
A
Cold
Mountain
prison
uniform
had
been
sent
ahead
,
but
the
sheriff
and
his
men
had
n't
bothered
to
put
Wharton
in
it
;
they
left
that
to
our
boys
.
Wharton
was
dressed
in
a
cotton
hospital
johnny
and
cheap
felt
slippers
when
they
first
met
him
on
the
second
floor
of
the
General
Hospital
,
a
scrawny
man
with
a
narrow
,
pimply
face
and
a
lot
of
long
,
tangly
blond
hair
.
His
ass
,
also
narrow
and
also
covered
with
pimples
,
stuck
out
the
back
of
the
johnny
.
That
was
the
part
of
him
Harry
and
the
others
saw
first
,
because
Wharton
was
standing
at
the
window
and
looking
out
at
the
parking
lot
when
they
came
in
.
He
did
n't
turn
but
just
stood
there
,
holding
the
curtains
back
with
one
hand
,
silent
as
a
doll
while
Harry
bitched
at
the
county
sheriff
about
being
too
lazy
to
get
Wharton
into
his
prison
blues
and
the
county
sheriff
lectured
--
as
every
county
official
I
've
ever
met
seems
bound
to
do
--
about
what
was
his
job
and
what
was
not
.
When
Harry
got
tired
of
that
part
(
I
doubt
it
took
him
long
)
,
he
told
Wharton
to
turn
around
.
Wharton
did
.
He
looked
,
Dean
told
us
in
his
raspy
bark
of
a
half-choked
voice
,
like
any
one
of
a
thousand
backcountry
stampeders
who
had
wound
their
way
through
Cold
Mountain
during
our
years
there
.
Boil
that
look
down
and
what
you
got
was
a
dullard
with
a
mean
steak
.
Sometimes
you
also
discovered
a
yellow
streak
in
them
,
once
their
backs
were
to
the
wall
,
but
more
often
there
was
nothing
there
but
fight
and
mean
and
then
more
fight
and
more
mean
.
There
are
people
who
see
nobility
in
folks
like
Billy
Wharton
,
but
I
am
not
one
of
them
.
A
rat
will
fight
,
too
,
if
it
is
cornered
.
This
man
's
face
seemed
to
have
no
more
personality
than
his
acne-studded
backside
,
Dean
told
us
.
His
jaw
was
slack
,
his
eyes
distant
,
his
shoulders
slumped
,
his
hands
dangling
.
He
looked
shot
up
with
morphine
,
all
right
,
every
bit
as
coo-coo
as
any
dopefiend
any
of
them
had
ever
seen
.
At
this
,
Percy
gave
another
of
his
sullen
nods
.
"
Put
this
on
,
"
Harry
said
,
indicating
the
uniform
on
the
foot
of
the
bed
--
it
had
been
taken
out
of
the
brown
paper
it
was
wrapped
in
,
but
otherwise
not
touched
--
it
was
still
folded
just
as
it
had
been
in
the
prison
laundry
,
with
a
pair
of
white
cotton
boxer
shorts
poking
out
of
one
shirtsleeve
and
a
pair
of
white
socks
poking
out
of
the
other
.
Wharton
seemed
willing
enough
to
comply
,
but
was
n't
able
to
get
very
far
without
help
.
He
managed
the
boxers
,
but
when
it
came
to
the
pants
,
he
kept
trying
to
put
both
legs
into
the
same
hole
.
Finally
Dean
helped
him
,
getting
his
feet
to
go
where
they
belonged
and
then
yanking
the
trousers
up
,
doing
the
fly
,
and
snapping
the
waistband
.
.
Wharton
only
stood
there
,
not
even
trying
to
help
once
he
saw
that
Dean
was
doing
it
for
him
.
He
stared
vacantly
across
the
room
,
hands
lax
,
and
it
did
n't
occur
to
any
of
them
that
he
was
shamming
.
Not
in
hopes
of
escape
(
at
least
I
do
n't
believe
that
was
it
)
but
only
in
hopes
of
making
the
maximum
amount
of
trouble
when
the
right
time
came
.
The
papers
were
signed
.
William
Wharton
,
who
had
become
county
property
when
he
was
arrested
,
now
became
the
state
's
property
.
He
was
taken
down
the
back
stairs
and
through
the
kitchen
,
surrounded
by
bluesuits
.
He
walked
with
his
head
down
and
his
long-fingered
hands
dangling
.
The
first
time
his
cap
fell
off
,
Dean
put
it
back
on
him
.
The
second
time
,
he
just
tucked
it
into
his
own
back
pocket
.
He
had
another
chance
to
make
trouble
in
the
back
of
the
stagecoach
,
when
they
were
shackling
him
,
and
did
n't
.
If
he
thought
(
even
now
I
'm
not
sure
if
he
did
,
or
if
he
did
,
how
much
)
,
he
must
have
thought
that
the
space
was
too
small
and
the
numbers
too
great
to
cause
a
satisfactory
hooraw
.
So
on
went
the
chains
,
one
set
running
between
his
ankles
and
another
set
too
long
,
it
turned
out
,
between
his
wrists
.
The
drive
to
Cold
Mountain
took
an
hour
.
During
that
whole
time
,
Wharton
sat
on
the
lefthand
bench
up
by
the
cab
,
head
lowered
,
cuffed
hands
dangling
between
his
knees
.
