On the Yard Read Online Free PDF Page B

white, orderly as Trappists. When he saw the piles of handcuffs and leg-irons he understood why they had been orderly.
    They were stripped, searched, and told to tag their civilian clothes. After they changed into the coveralls, the leg-irons were fastened to their ankles, and they were led out to the bus, which sat parked in an alley. The seats were filled from the rear and Manning found himself next to a window, sharing a seat with Jim Nunn. Henry Jackson was just in front of them.
    Manning looked out the window, but there was little to see. The bare brick side of the building that had held him for six weeks, and the even bright humps of parked cars. At the end of the block a woman crossed the mouth of the alley.
    â€œGoodbye, Mama,” Henry Jackson said.
    Two deputies worked down the aisle rapidly fastening the handcuffs, and when they finished they locked the door of the driver’s compartment behind them. The motor came to life.
    When it became apparent they were going to pass through the center of town, Manning hid his face in his hands. He didn’t want to be seen. But neither did he want to see. Still, in his mind he watched the familiar buildings, one by one, fall away behind.
    â€œWell, that’s it,” Nunn said, and Manning lifted his face from his hands to look at his seatmate.
    For the first time he realized how ill Nunn appeared. His bitter face was grayish, and took a clownish cast from his wide red mouth, but there was nothing of the clown in his eyes. He lifted his hands to look at the handcuffs, studying them with distaste. He made a wry noise and said to Manning in normal tones, “We haven’t left ourselves much, have we?”
    â€œNo, I guess not.”
    â€œYou get used to it.”
    â€œWhat’s it like?”
    â€œDull,” Nunn replied without emphasis. “And that’s about it. If you’re not uncomfortable, you’re bored. No kicks. No broads. No dope. And no hope. Besides that the food’s bad.”
    â€œCan you study there? Take up something?”
    â€œYou probably couldn’t find a better place. They have schools. You can take up a hobby.” Nunn smiled. “Like my hobby was smuggling dope.”
    â€œYou’re not serious?”
    â€œOf course, I’m not serious.” Nunn leaned forward to Henry Jackson in the seat in front. “How’d you like a bag of that good smack?”
    Jackson turned, grinning. “Do rabbits like tender young peas? But to tell the troof, sport, I been messin with that charlotte. That stuff do burn your arm up. Make you look like vampires got aholt a you.”
    â€œThat shit scares me. I keep thinking I’m going to go into some kind of madman act.”
    â€œYou mos’ likely thinkin right. Your cap get pretty loose sometimes. Well, we ain’t gunna have no such worry for a while anyway.”
    â€œThat’s a lock.”
    As the two men had been talking the bus had reached open country, and now they were passing a stretch of fenced pasture where a small herd of black-and-white cows were grazing. One looked up to watch the bus with a round and empty eye.
    Music began to come from a loudspeaker in the back corner. The song was one Manning had often heard Debbie playing in her bedroom.
    Stick and the Generals were singing along with the record. They seemed in a good mood and Manning supposed a kid could convince himself this was something of an adventure. He settled back and found himself listening to Henry Jackson describing his arrest for something he called “carpet game.”
    â€œSee,” Henry was saying, “I knew I should of never played in my own neighborhood. I knew that. But I seen this chump and he looking fat, fat, and I knew I could play on him, so I shoots. Ask him did he want to juge a colored girl. Yeah, that’s what he wants. So I take him to the shitter at the Mae-and-Ida rooms, and tell him the girls get twenny.
    â€œTwenny! he