“Careful.”

His short, clipped words gave away his rising panic.

He kept his other hand buried deep in his coat pocket.

Denny wiped a drop of moisture from his nose.

His arthritis made him stiff on the wooden wagon boards.

He shifted his stance heavily and tapped the gavel against the railing to keep the rhythm going.

“We’re at three hundred and one thousand,” Denny said.

“I need three hundred and two.”