Location: Balder, Colorado. 1866
Today, the town square was full.
Mothers, fathers, children, aunts, uncles, friends - all were gathered to see the hanging of Josiah Wallace, notorious cattle thief and highwayman of the railroad. For years, he and his men had harassed the local bigwigs, making money off of the profits of others. Everybody knew it was him, but nobody could prove it. Today, though, today he was to be hanged for murder.
The deputy, now sheriff, led Josiah up the steps, making no attempts to hide his disdain. Not that Josiah cared. He almost wished the bullet had gotten the deputy instead. No, wait, there was no almost. While Josiah and Sheriff Packer stood on opposite sides of the law, the two men had a certain degree of respect for one another. In another lifetime, under different circumstances, the two might have even been close friends. Deputy Harris, though, was a pathetic fool. He thought he was all big and bad, but Josiah knew, as many men around these parts knew, that Harris was dirty and cowardly. Not necessarily in that order, either.
"Come on, you scum, git on up there before I bruise your pretty face even more." Deputy Harris - Josiah would never think of him as the Sheriff. There would only be one, and he was currently laying at what passed for a morgue around here.
Perhaps it was the fact that death was so near, or perhaps it was because he didn't want to seem like a yellow belly before he died, but Josiah turned to the pot-bellied man and smiled. "Aw, come now, Deputy. There's no need to do that - I wouldn't want your knuckles to break."
The man's nostrils flared, and it was clear he was using every ounce of willpower to reign himself in. "The name's Sheriff, boy. Sheriff. Considering how you murdered the last one, may God rest his good soul."
The smile faded a bit. "I told you, Deputy, I didn't kill him. I was set up by-"
"Gentlemen." The mayor looked down at the two, frowning sternly. "We have a hanging to get to."
Harris and Josiah traded glares before the latter was marched to his place beneath the noose. The mayor then began to speak, but he turned him out. Instead, Josiah's bright green eyes were seeking out his beloved's blue ones. There- Sarah stood next to her half sister Sierra, watching the procession with grim sorrow. Stay strong for me, Sarah. Stay strong for our boy. It grieved Josiah that his little boy Samuel, already two years old, would not be able to know his father well. But he knew that Sarah would make sure Samuel would know him, know the good man his daddy was capable of being.
"...murder, along with suspected accounts of..."
Josiah gritted his teeth at the mayor's words. Josiah was many things, but he was not a murderer. Not in cold blood, and certainly not of a man he respected deeply, whether or not they were on the same side. But the only one who believed him was Sarah, and what could she do? Nobody would believe her protestations of his innocence, though all would expect it. Poor woman, they would say. It's only natural she say he's innocent. No upstanding woman like herself wants to accept that her baby's father is a murderer. Then they'd walk away, chewing tobacco as they discussed the weather, the problems with those cursed Indians, and whether or not Andrew Johnson would live up to Abraham Lincoln's legacy, May God bless his soul.
"Josiah Bethlehem Wallace, do you have any last words?"
Now was his moment. He was gonna die, no doubt about it. And he was prepared to meet his Maker, even if it was because he was set up.
Josiah's eyes once again met his wife's eyes, and in a voice that could've been talking about the weather as well, he said, "I love you, Sarah. Make sure Sammy knows I lo-"
Suddenly the floor dropped, a loud snap filled the air, and Josiah was no longer in this universe.
Aghast, the mayor turned and looked at the deputy, who shrugged. "What? My finger slipped. His time was up, anyway."