TIL DEATH DO US PART
I had just bought a newspaper in a town we'd been
passing through, and I wasn't
very happy when I saw the headline.
"Uh oh,"
I said.
"What is it?" Mushy replied.
"I'll tell you here in a little bit.
Let's get outta here."
We set up a camp a distance out of town and I read the
newspaper article.
"MAN MURDERED, FRIEND TELLS STORY BEFORE FALLING
UNCONSCIOUS.
David Scuttler, 43, was murdered in the street during a fight,
his friend John
Molar said before falling into a unconscious state he is unlikely to awake from.
Scuttler suffered from a severe concussion, resulting
in bleeding which lead to
his death, Molar said. Molar was suffering from a
condition that wasn't as
severe and lead to his current condition. `They
jumped us from behind,' Molar
said. `Murderers.'
"One is described as
being a young man in his late 20s or early 30s with sandy
hair, blue eyes,
and a worn, billed hat. The other is described as being a
teenage girl with
long, curly blonde hair, green eyes, and being dressed as a
drover. They are
wanted for MURDER. $1,000 dead each, and $2,000 alive."
Liars, I thought.,
thinking about the fight and how Mushy had saved me. It was
self
defense.
Mushy tilted his head to the side and his eyebrows furrowed, that
look he had
when was trying to put the puzzle together.
"They sound
familiar," he said.
"They should." I replied. "Because they're talking about
us."
We were careful where we went. I now tucked my hair into my hat, but
my figure
was hard to disguise, earning me a couple puzzled looks. Mushy
could have gotten
rid of his hat, but then everyone would have seen his sandy
hair. But he loved
the hat. I couldn't blame him. So he just tried not to
stick out.
But we couldn't run forever. Someone in one town recognized us,
and as we
quickly rode out, shots were fired in our direction. I was deeply
grazed in the
left shoulder, but kept riding with Mushy out of sight.
We
rode fast, and we rode far.
Finally, we stopped. I had lost a lot of blood,
and nearly fell off my horse.
Mushy started a fire and looked up, then looked
at my arm.
"You're hurt," he said softly.
"It's just a scratch," I
replied.
"You're bleeding pretty badly. Let me take a look," Mushy
insisted.
I sat stiffly down and winced as Mushy ripped off my sleeve. "It's
pretty
deep," he observed. "Maybe I could go into town and get something for
it."
"No," I said. `They'll kill you." It's a shame what people would do for
money.
Mushy cleaned out the wound as I winced and held my breath, and
wrapped it up
with my sleeve. He tore off my other sleeve because one long
sleeve would
definitely attract unwanted attention.
"I'll stay up," he
said helping me lay down. I thought about arguing but was
too tired. He
brushed the hair out of my eyes, and I fell asleep.
I woke up, feeling
horrible. My head pounded, but not as badly as usual, and it
hurt to move my
left arm. Thank goodness I was right handed.
"How are you feeling?" Mushy
asked, rolling up the bedrolls.
"Better," I lied, biting my lip to keep from
crying in pain.
I looked up and saw Mushy's worried face. I realized, for the
first time in
five days, that we could both be killed, all because of me.
Guilt flooded
through me, but I refused to give up. I touched his shoulder
reassuringly.
"It'll be alright," I said. "Let's get a move on."
We passed
a lake where I washed off the blood, and the cool water felt good up
against
my skin.
Hours later we rode into town, and was greeted by the sight of
gallows, and
welcomed by a
sign:
GALLOWTOWN:
POPULATION:203
Nervously, we looked at each other and
lead our horses to the livery stables.
Thunder rolled in the distance. We
hurried inside the bar, just as the rain
began.
Since neither of us drank,
we both got sarsaparilla, and decided to get a hotel
room. "But not here in
the bar," I said. "We'll never get decent sleep. Let's go
to the hotel across
the street."
It had started pouring, and the street had turned to mud. We
started to run
across the slick mud.
Mushy made it. I didn't.
I
slipped, and half of me hit the walkway in front of the hotel. I was soak
in
mud from the knees down. My hat fell off my head and my true identity
was
revealed. I looked up to see Mushy with his hands in the air. What? I
thought.
I looked to the side for some explanation and was looking down the
barrel of a
Colt .45.
"Well well well," the sheriff said. "Looks like we
got ourselves a couple of
outlaws."
I groaned. It was true. We couldn't
run forever.
"Let us out!" I screamed from behind bars. They had locked
Mushy and me up in
the same cell, with two cots. Mushy sat quietly on his
cot, but I wasn't going
down without a fight. "You idiot, we didn't do it,
let us out!"
"We're gonna hang you tomorrow at three o'clock," the sheriff
said. "By the way,
you have the right to remain silent."
I paused. "No
trial? What are you gonna do, use whatever I say against me in
imaginary
court? I know I've got the right to remain silent, but that doesn't
mean I'm
gonna!"
The sheriff only chuckled. Mushy slowly raised his hands to his ears
to cover
them, and I let the sheriff know what I thought.
"You son of a-"
and I let the words tream from there.
After a ten minute rant about how he
knows nothing about the law, how he's a
coward and so is his mother, I sat
down on my cot and cried. Mushy sat down
beside me and held me up against him
as I cried into his chest. He didn't say a
word because he knew as well as I
did that we were going to die. And it was all
my fault.
I had slept
later than usual, and three o'clock came sooner than I'd hoped.
They led us
outside at ten til the hour, up the gallows, side by side, and
placed nooses
around our necks,
"Anything I can do to make you comfortable?" the kind
hangman asked.
Don't hang us, I thought bitterly.
"Untie our hands," Mushy
said. "We won't run."
"I know you won't," the sheriff said.
We looked up
to see armed deputies everywhere. He untied our hands, and my hand
found
Mushy's. the sheriff told the people what we had done, and I looked
at
Mushy.
"Mushy?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm real sorry,"
"It's not your
fault. It's mine."
I thought about my family, friends, and Mushy. Poor, poor,
Mushy.
"No it's not," I finally said. "You saved me. You wouldn't of had to
if
I'd listened to Mr. Favor."
Mr. Favor. The boys. I'd miss
them.
"Mushy?"
"Yeah Cinnamon?"
"I-" I faltered. "I love you."
There
was quite, and I was afraid I'd said too much.
"I love you too."
I smiled
weakly and squeezed his hand. "I'm really sorry about all this,"
I
said.
"It's not good," Mushy said. "But I'm glad I'm doing it with my
friend."
Tears filled my eyes. Some friend I am.
The church bells chimed
three.
The hangman tightened his hand on the lever.
The sheriff
smiled.
And I looked down in the crowd. Wait. No. it can't be!
There was
Mr. Favor.
He's going to save us!
But then I saw that he had the same
scowl on his face that everyone did.
My heart sank. Then I realized
it.
Mr. Favor had come to watch us die.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Thanks to my
family and friends for supporting me.
Enjoy! Watch for Part 4 coming
soon!