The only question worth askin’ was . . .

WHY ME?

Wes Parr rolled his eyes, his gaze following the line of the rope leading up to the branch of the only tree big enough for a hanging. It was a fine old tree, not overly tall but with spreading branches and a thick growth of fresh, green leaves. On a hot day like this one, a man might go out of his way to rest under such a tree.

Even to his own ears, his voice sounded monotonous and tiresome as he made yet another appeal to his captors. He had been saying it over and over, until now he was hoarse from the effort.

“I ain’t the one you want. I ain’t a thief. I ain’t never killed anybody.”

“Might as well shuddup,” grunted one of the lynchers. “Nobody’s listenin’.”

“Yeah,” advised another, “least you c’n do is take it like a man.”