The Hanging
Chapter 1
"Sam, I need four beers," Kitty Russell requested, setting an empty tray on the spotless wooden bar. It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon in early summer, but business was slow as molasses in January at The Long Branch Saloon. Other than a dusty cowboy nursing a shot of whiskey, the only clientele at the moment was the amiable group of men who had just seated themselves at a table in the middle of the room.
"Yes Ma'am," Sam replied agreeably as he deftly drew the beers and loaded up the tray. Kitty carried them to the table and placed a foamy mug in front of each of her customers, providing her usual service with a smile.
"Thank you, Miss Kitty," said one of the men politely upon receiving his drink.
Ray Bailey was a semi-regular customer and co-owner of a successful boot-making business in Dodge. A handsome man in his early forties, he occasionally stopped by with employees to take a break and enjoy a beer. His wife Donna taught Sunday school at the Union Church, and Kitty had gotten to know her when they had taken shifts helping a mutual friend through a serious bout with pneumonia. They were not close, but Kitty liked Donna Bailey.
Though she had never known Ray to be anything but courteous, there was something about him that made Kitty slightly uncomfortable. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. He was a quiet man, not one for idle chit-chat, though that certainly wasn't it. Kitty knew from experience that a man of few words could make a woman quite comfortable.
Whatever it was, she wasn't going to waste time worrying about it. He was a respected citizen and paying customer who had never caused a lick of trouble, and in her line of work you didn't look that gift horse in the mouth.
After emptying her tray, Kitty sent Sam down to the cellar to fetch some more whiskey. It was slow now, but they would sorely need it later when business picked up. Sam disappeared through the back as the lone customer at the bar took his last swallow of whiskey and ambled out of the saloon.
The batwing doors were still swinging when a new patron walked in. Kitty had just begun washing out the dirty shot glass when she glanced up and smiled at William Lucius. Bailey's partner in the boot-making business was a widower and good friend of Doc's, and Kitty figured he had dropped by to join the others for an afternoon drink.
Lucius did not smile back at Kitty Russell, as he normally would. Expressionless, he made only brief eye contact with her before fixing his gaze on the occupied table. The men were deeply engrossed in both conversation and beer, oblivious that their co-worker had appeared and was approaching them.
Something about William Lucius's demeanor gave Kitty a very uneasy feeling. He still had the same blank look on his face that he had come in with, almost as if in a trance. There was not a hint of reaction to his surroundings, only a slow, methodical gait toward the quartet.
As Lucius reached the table, the four men looked up, smiling in recognition. A couple of them scooted their chairs over to make room for him.
But William Lucius was not there to socialize. He pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at his partner's chest. "Ray Bailey, you son of a bitch," he growled. All four men jumped up instantly, scrambling for cover. There was no escape for Bailey as the barrel of the gun followed his chest and Lucius squeezed the trigger.
Kitty screamed in horror as Ray crumpled to the ground, a red stain spreading quickly across the front of his white work shirt. None of the boot makers were armed, and the remaining three cowered behind a nearby table as their boss stood over his victim, his gun still aimed at the motionless body.
Kitty raised a trembling hand to her mouth, her heart beating rapidly. She had worked in saloons for a lot of years and had seen men shot over card games, women, and any number of drunken feuds. While not immune to the chilling nature of violence, she had learned to deal with it out of necessity. But the calculated, cold-blooded execution of a seemingly innocent man right before her eyes was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and it shook her to the core.
Sam came bounding up the cellar stairs as soon as he heard the gunshot and scream. There were few customers in the saloon, and those hardly seemed the shooting type. His mind raced as he imagined a robbery or some other perilous scenario that involved harm befalling his beloved employer.
He was relieved to find Miss Kitty standing behind the bar with the rifle they kept for protection, aimed squarely at William Lucius, of all people. The barrel of the rifle was shaking, but not enough to miss its target should the slender finger on the trigger need to pull it.
Lucius had lowered his gun and was staring at the floor, apparently uninterested in posing any further threat.
"Go get Matt," Kitty urgently instructed Sam, almost in a whisper.
"Miss Kitty, I'd feel better if you let me stay here with him while you fetch the marshal," Sam entreated.
She took a deep breath and decided that sounded like a good idea. Carefully handing the rifle to Sam, her eyes never left the killer. As Sam took control of their prisoner, Kitty hurried toward the door. A soft voice called out to her before she reached it.
"Miss Kitty?" It was a gentle sounding voice—not the voice she had heard only seconds before, cursing the name of the man now lying at his feet. It startled her, and she quickly stopped and whirled around.
Sam put a little more pressure on the trigger. "Hold it right there, Mister," he said firmly, unsure of the man's intentions.
William Lucius opened his right hand, letting the pistol clatter to the floor. He clearly had no desire to harm the woman to whom he was speaking.
Kitty searched his face and saw something she wasn't expecting, something that had been missing when he had entered the saloon and committed his crime. It was a profoundly human expression of pain.
Tears glistened in his eyes as he spoke to her. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, his voice rife with emotion. "I wish you didn't have to see that."
Kitty stared at the killer in bewilderment. Had he really just apologized to her? She didn't understand what was happening, but she had to get to Matt.
She silently turned and strode out of the saloon. Stepping onto Front Street she broke into a run, toward the only man who could make her feel safe again.
-FoH-