The sheriff had not been friendly, in spite of his chuckle.
Bland had not shown up--the pop-eyed little sneak!--probably because he had already planned this treachery.
He went back to his lonely room too utterly depressed to think.
Apathetically he read the paper which his jailer brought him along with the tobacco which Johnny had sent for.

Smoke was a dreary comfort--the paper was not.

The reporters had lost interest in him.

Whereas two columns had been given to his personal affairs the day before, his troubles to-day had been dismissed with a couple of paragraphs.

They told him, however, that the "irate father" had taken the weeping maiden out of town and left the "truculent young birdman pining in captivity." It was a sordid end to a most romantic exploit, declared the paper.
And in that Johnny agreed.