Riding to Beat the Pain - Buck Wilmington
The pungent smoke of kerosene from the flickering lamps hanging overhead, the stale odor of cigars and the stink of sweat and spilled spirits permeated the makeshift courtroom hastily set up in the bar. Judge Orin Travis placed his glasses on his nose, unfolded the twelve scraps of paper that had been piled up on the bar before him and read each one quickly, silently. A small trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face past the grim set of his lips, all the emotion he showed. He was not surprised by the vote but his mouth went suddenly very dry as his throat constricted.
Clearing his throat and taking a calming breath he placed the papers down and slowly, almost reluctantly, turned to the man sitting at a table to his left. The trial had been a sham from the onset, he thought shaking his head, what with the prisoner's steadfast and vigorous admission of guilt and he had known the outcome even before he'd unfolded the slips of paper. His voice was somber, authoritative and tinged with anger as he read, "In the matter of the murder of Grayson Kant...this court has found you guilty as charge."
The heretofore stillness of the courtroom was quickly disrupted by an ever-growing cacophony as voices rose some in dismay while others lauded the verdict sure beyond a shadow of a doubt of the prisoner's guilt. The whip-crack of the gavel being wielded forcefully against the oaken bar, as much in frustrated anger as to bring order to the room, eventually brought the standing room only crowd back to some semblance of order.
Only the One Tree Brethren, a small devout collective dressed in black and somber grays, sat never speaking, barely moving as chaos reigned around them. The elders looked on with detached interest for, in truth, they cared not what the upshot of the legal exercise was for it was not The Brethren's place to find the man guilty or innocent. Only God could judge a man and judge this particular man God surely would.
To the strange and secretive sect he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. A non-believer who had infiltrate their ranks seducing with honeyed words and not so selfless deeds the young wife of Grayson Kant, Alice. The elders knew that the vain and somewhat reckless Alice Smith Kant had suffered greatly adjusting to the sparse living conditions and the austere ways of the Brethren but had recently responded favorably under the tutelage and iron hand of her husband. But it was all for naught. Grayson Kant was dead and his wife was gone.
"Order! I will have order in my court!" Orin Travis turned again slowly in his seat to look directly at the condemned man. It was a practice that had always held him in good stead. Frontier justice was truly an eye for an eye and over the years the federal judge had found, that when he looked into the face of the ill fated that the eyes opened to the soul and guilt or, in the unlikely case, innocence could quickly be found therein.
As if clairvoyant the prisoner lifted his eyes to meet the intense gaze of the judge then dropped quickly to stare at the floor, the same posture he had assumed throughout most of the afternoon's proceedings. Had it been there or was Travis simply hoping to see at least a flicker of guilt to make his sentencing of the man a little easier? He had assuredly seen a brief flicker of pain, an emotion that belied the guilty man's glib demeanor, his almost flippant disregard for the proceedings that had sealed his fate. As he studied the prisoner a few moments longer staring at the thick hair on the bowed head, a hush again fell over those present as they waited for the Judge to continue. Only the nervous scuffling of feet and the errant cough disturbed the stillness.
"By order of this court you will be remanded into custody and returned to jail where, at precisely 12:00 noon tomorrow, you will be taken from confinement, led to the gallows and hung by the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say to the court...to the Brethren, Mr. Wilmington?"
"Say something, Buck! It can't be like you said! Tell 'em what really happened," JD pleaded jumping up from his seat as the courtroom erupted once again.
Nathan grabbed the young man's jacket sleeve restraining him and the gavel sounded repeatedly, Judge Travis again calling for order and threatening contempt of court. The healer doubted very much that Judge Travis would hold the youngster in contempt considering the circumstances but held on tightly to the rough material of JD's suit nonetheless. "Tell me what really happened," the crestfallen young man whispered before allowing himself to be pulled back down into his seat.
Sitting heavily, his arms resting on his widespread legs and his head hanging low, J.D. began to contemplate his life without Buck Wilmington, the man who had been more of a father to him these last months than the man who had lain with his mother, deserting her quickly thereafter.
Nathan gently rubbed his distraught friend's back absently. His attention was now on Chris Larabee, who stood to the right of the doorway, face passive except for the barest movement in the man's clenched jaws and the healer wondered how the taciturn gunfighter would take the loss of his long time friend and partner. Nathan himself would sorely miss the affable ladies man. In the short time he had known him Buck Wilmington had caused bodily harm and even killed on occasion but the former lawman firmly believed in the frontier code of justice and had caused no undue harm...until that fateful day, the day he had supposedly bludgeoned a man to death. Although he was loath to believe such a vile accusation Buck's unswerving admission of guilt left Nathan with no other choice than to believe that, even in the most affable of men, the very worst kind of brutality could rear it's ugly head.
Chris Larabee stood against the wall but he was no longer in the makeshift courtroom. He was miles away and years ago as he thought of his twelve-plus-year relationship with Buck Wilmington, recalling the good times and the bad, relegating the last week to the bad and tomorrow to the very worst. Knowing Buck as well as he did Chris knew that, even if he were guilty Buck had his reasons for not heading for the hills and the obscure freedom the vast and untamed frontier afforded those who chose to leave an unsavory past behind but he still wished his friend would reconsider.
Vin Tanner was also in the saloon standing deep in the shadows near the small staircase that lead to the platform overlooking the bar. As he surveyed the small enclave of jurors and spectators the Tracker's chest felt tight, his breathing restricted, as the impact of the verdict and sentence hit him fully. He could feel the rope tightening around his own neck and his hand went to his throat, a finger loosening his collar.
The gavel struck oak once again this time ringing like a shot. Buck, head still bowed, took in a deep breath and looked as if he would speak but instead closed his down turned eyes and shook his head.
"Very well," Travis said looking to the man by the door, "Mr. Larabee, you will escort the prisoner to the jail where he will remain in your custody until noon tomorrow whereupon you will carry out the orders of the court and the duties of your office." As an aside he added, "See that he has whatever he likes from the Hotel restaurant. The court will pay."
Ezra Standish, at a loss as to why society deemed it necessary to hang a man on a full stomach, snorted derisively at the likelihood of that final feast returning to haunt those who would hang him. Everyone knew that the human body expelled its contents upon death and he said mockingly under his breath, "And the condemned man ate a hearty meal."
As he gathered up his papers Judge Travis looked once more at Wilmington sitting so still and wondered how he could have been so wrong about this particular man. Definitely a womanizer and a rogue Wilmington was also a man with an inherent honesty even in his most lascivious of dealings. He was friendly, easy going and a scoundrel to boot but had nobly performed his duty to the town and its people and Orin had never had a serious complaint against him...until this. Buck Wilmington was a complete rounder but the Territorial Judge would never have believed him to be the cold-blooded killer he confessed to being.
On the other hand it would not have surprised the Judge in the least if Chris Larabee had been sitting before him in Buck's stead but to have the sociable, devil may care ladies man sitting before him surprised him. It surprised him, it perplexed him, it angered him and most of all it saddened him. "Would you like to see…someone?" the Judge asked quietly turning again to Buck.
The closest thing the town had to a preacher was Josiah Sanchez, Buck's friend and compatriot, and Orin wanted to make things easier for the condemned man by allowing him to spend the remainder of his life on earth in the company of his more spiritual friend.
"Yeah…but she's gone," Buck thought to himself and said nothing while Josiah waited hopefully for the chance to offer comfort to his comrade.
Having kept his own peace Josiah knew there was more to the story than met the eye and the ears of the jury and he had fervently prayed that Buck wouldn't wait until it was too late to explain the motives behind his inexplicable actions and behavior but to no avail.
"Mr. Wilmington," Travis looked down and quickly signed the official decree, "May God have mercy on your soul," and with a final rap of the gavel pronounced, "Court's adjourned!"
Buck rose up and, head bowed, awaited his shackles and his escort back to the jail.