The gallows sang to him. They weren’t supposed to do that, or so he understood, but some fool had erected them at the opening of a box canyon, and the sou’westers really put some heart into the mournful dirge. They again. Why were gallows a plural? Gallow probably sounded too lonely. Company would be nice, he thought, as the hangman snuggled the sole noose around his neck. A pardon would be nicer, but his da’ always said you could shit in one hand and wish in the other - either way you’re wash. . .