Five hundred. That was what a man was worth. Thomas was going to sell him off to the marshals, and he wouldn’t even give a damn that Leon was likely to spend the rest of his life rotting in jail, if he ever made it to a cell. The way Behan had worked the story, he wouldn’t be surprised if there was an “accident” on the way to the courthouse.
Time was running out for him, no matter how he looked at it.
Tilting his head to the side, Leon watched Thomas work for several seconds. Thomas never looked back. He never even glanced in Leon’s direction. Even when Leon was done and buttoning himself back up, Thomas continued to work on packing his gear.
The silence was deafening.
Time’s running out.
There was only one way he wasn’t going to end up in custody by the end of the day. Only one way to avoid what was an inevitable death sentence. He had to take the chance while he had it.