ean 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 didn't occur to any of them that he was shamming。 Not in hopes of escape （at least I don'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 bee 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 didn'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。 Every now and then h