The trial of Hannibal Heyes was not going to be the greatest moment in America's justice system.
Heyes was appointed a lawyer who made it clear that his job was to please his employer's best friend, Governor Hamilton. He spent as little time as possible with Heyes, only taking a moment to verify that Heyes was planning to take responsibility for all crimes and clear the name of his cousin, Jedediah 'Kid' Curry.
Heyes knew he would have to do it. While it was terrible think of the Kid married to Mary Adams, it was worse to think of him rotting in jail for twenty years. At least this way the Kid would be free, and who knew what might happen to save him from Mary? Heyes hoped that he could get word to somebody, perhaps Lom, but he was kept so closely guarded that it didn't seem possible.
The trial was arranged within three days. Nobody was notified and there were no witnesses called for the defense. He was pleading guilty; why would there be?
Hannibal Heyes was arrested, tried and sentenced in less than a week. He wondered if the Kid even knew. But then, he thought, he must. Someone in town would have told him about the arrest and Kid would know where they would take him. Perhaps he was trying to save him even now, riding hell-for-leather towards the jail.
The only thing he knew with any certainty, was that as soon as the Kid heard about Heyes' arrest, he would do everything in his power to free him. He just hoped that Kid didn't get himself arrested in the process.
He tried to be hopeful as they transported him to the prison, but in his head he kept hearing the voice of the judge as he called out "Twenty years!".
Twenty years.
He'd expected it and tried to be ready for it, but still... twenty years!
The number seemed impossible to him, unbelievable. A ridiculously large number, like fifty thousand or twenty million.
He wouldn't live in prison for twenty years - people didn't. He knew that at least. Jim Santana had managed seven and he'd heard of a man who got out of prison after eleven years. That man was spoken of with amazement and awe.
He would die in prison.
He would spend the rest of his life locked in a small, dark cell and he would die there.
He would never again smell the fresh mountain air he loved so much. He would never again hear birdsong or watch the trees change color or drink fresh brewed coffee under a canopy of trees on a crisp, cool, autumn morning. He would never again sleep under the stars.
At the prison, they stripped him of his clothes, cut his hair and forced him into a striped prison uniform made of a rough, scratchy material.
He tried to make his brain take it all in as they screamed rules at him and dragged him to a cell.
And then they left him there, to begin the rest of his life.
Hannibal Heyes didn't know if he believed in heaven, but he was sure there was a hell and he was living in it.
Prison was everything he'd feared and more.
He was put to work breaking rocks at the quarry. He thought of all the times he and the Kid had tried to avoid back breaking work, and now here he was, set to do it for the next twenty years.
He never thought he'd be happy that the days were getting shorter, but they worked from sunup to sundown. He didn't think he could survive working the longer summer days, he was exhausted all the time already.
His cell was dark and cold, and it smelled of stale air and unclean living. Sunlight couldn't seem to penetrate the small slit window above his head that constituted the only light he had. He hated the cold and the dark, but more than that, he hated that he could no longer read whenever he chose. They were allowed to read the Bible - nothing else - but with only the small amount of light that came into his cell, he couldn't even have read that.
But the worst part was the silence.
They were never allowed to speak unless they were asked a question by a guard, something that rarely seemed to happen.
The prison warden was a man who believed that atonement and quiet contemplation was good for the soul. He was a harsh man of strong convictions, who felt that he was doing God's work redeeming the sinners. His prison was for the hard cases, the men who were unlikely to ever return to the world, the souls who could not be reclaimed. He allowed no visitors, no letters, no light in the darkness. He felt that if he could give them a taste of hell on earth, then they would have a greater interest in purifying their souls for the hereafter.
Silence was the hardest thing for Heyes to adjust to. He found himself constantly being beaten for talking when he hadn't even been aware that he was doing so. He'd started talking to himself, needing to hear a voice, needing to speak and be heard. When he was locked in silence, all of his words flew around in his head and made him feel that he was going insane.
He had always liked to talk, he had always done it for himself and the Kid when they were stuck in a jam or running some kind of a con. And now, he didn't even have that.
He was an optimist by nature; too many things had happened in his life for him to lose all hope. But it was a struggle to continue.
He made himself a promise - every day he told himself, I'll get through today; I won't think about tomorrow, but I'll survive for one more day. Each day was separate, a unique challenge that he would conquer. He was not serving a sentence of twenty years, one after the other. He was serving a sentence of innumerable single days, each one separate and disconnected. That way, he thought, he might just get through it.
He might still be defeated in the end, but he would fight against it. He was still, after all, the great Hannibal Heyes, and he was a survivor.
Thaddeus Jones didn't know why nobody seemed to talk to him anymore.
When he first came to Silvervale, he'd got along with everybody well enough, although his attention had been mostly on Mary. But now, everywhere he went, people seemed to shun him. A few would say 'Good morning' when they saw him, but they didn't linger to speak with him. When he tried to start up a conversation, they quickly made an excuse to leave.
He didn't think he could have done anything to upset them; Mary had kept him so busy at the ranch that he hadn't been near the town for weeks. Every time he had talked about it, she found something that she needed him to do. It was a shock when he realized that three weeks had gone by without making the trip.
Now he was aware that there was an undercurrent that ran through all his interactions.
He saw it directed at Mary, as well. Whatever it was seemed to include both of them. He'd see the tightening of her lips when she was snubbed, oh so subtly, by the clerk at the mercantile or the pharmacy. When they went to the small restaurant he had enjoyed with Heyes, they waited longer than anyone else to be served, and when they received their food it was generally cold and unappetizing. For some reason, Mary never wanted him to complain about it.
She blamed the beginnings of respectability and small-town morality that were starting to creep into this old mining town. They were, after all, openly living in sin.
But that didn't explain why he found it so hard to get a drink at the saloon, or why Queenie and her girls never smiled at him. They were ladies of the night, to use one of Heyes' expressions - they could hardly be accused of middle class morality. He just didn't understand it.
When the townsfolk witnessed the arrest of the man they knew as Joshua Smith, they were shocked. They all liked him and were horrified when they saw his treatment at the train station. They assumed, at first, that he had been spotted and caught leaving town.
When the details began to emerge, a very different picture started to unfold.
They couldn't understand how he had been so easily caught while Kid Curry remained free. Everyone knew that the two travelled together. Then, when the ranch hands told them what they knew about the affair - Curly had quickly shared his information with everyone - it was the biggest piece of gossip to hit the town in a long time. Few of them believed that Heyes was a bad man; but everyone believed that Kid Curry had betrayed his partner, especially when the telegraph operator and the banker told them what they knew. With each successive piece of news that came in, the tide of opinion turned further away from the couple.
Although it was discussed freely in the bunkhouse and in the town, no-one said a word to Kid Curry, since they believed he already knew everything about it. Besides, no-one wanted to get into an altercation with the gunslinger.
At first, Bill wasn't sure what he believed. After overhearing the conversation in the barn, he truly believed that Mary had spoken to Heyes without the Kid's knowledge.
But as time went by, he found that he wasn't entirely convinced that Kid Curry wasn't involved somehow. The man was so completely besotted with Mary and seemed so indifferent to the loss of his friend and partner; he didn't mention him once. He didn't know that Curry was naturally quiet, used to letting his partner speak for both of them, and since the ranch hands suddenly seemed so unfriendly, he was hardly likely to start talking to them about how much he missed his partner.
Despite his promise to Heyes to watch over the Kid, Bill began to keep his distance from the couple.
Kid Curry realized that he was lonely.
He loved Mary still, wholeheartedly and without question, of course he did. But somehow, he was realizing that she wasn't quite enough. He missed Heyes, with his endless chatter and his unique perspective on every single subject.
There were times - about a million each day - when he had wished for nothing more than five minutes of peace and quiet and a stop to Heyes' incessant chatter; but now… what he wouldn't give to see that grin, and hear whatever hare-brained scheme might be behind it. He thought about sending a telegram or writing a letter, but decided against it. Heyes said he'd be back in two months, so Kid Curry would wait.
He wondered, as he slowly sipped his whiskey (who knew when he could get another, old Ben was pointedly facing the other way and ignoring him), what Heyes was doing right now, and on what day he'd be coming back.
Heyes had been gone one month.
When Curry returned to the ranch, Mary rushed out to meet him, her eyes shining.
"Jed, you have a letter."
His face lit up. "From Heyes?"
He must have imagined the quick flash of annoyance that passed over her face.
"No, not from Heyes. From the governor!"
He took it from her and examined it curiously.
"Open it!"
He did, and pulled out the document inside.
His heart skipped a beat as he saw the first word.
Amnesty.
He read it over once, twice, and then a third and fourth time trying to believe it. With a shaking hand, he passed it to her. She took it and shrieked with joy.
"I thought it must be! Why else would you receive a letter from the governor? Jedediah Curry, you are a free man! We can get married at last!"
She ran into his arms and he lifted her and whirled her around. As she leaned into him for a kiss, he didn't notice, and instead asked her, "Do you think Heyes will come back now?"
This time he knew he hadn't imagined her irritation.
"Why would Heyes come back now?"
"Well, if he's sending us our amnesty... The governor obviously knows where I am, although I have no idea how. Heyes must have been in touch with Lom and told him! Now that our names are clear, Heyes can come back. He doesn't have to worry about being recognized anymore."
Mary tried to conceal her annoyance. "My love, it was never about being seen. He didn't like me and he didn't like us being together."
Curry tried to protest, even though he knew that she was right. "No, it wasn't that..."
"You know it was."
"Alright, it wasn't only that! He's probably heading back this way right now, I'm sure of it!"
She was furious. She had planned this day for weeks. She'd made a wonderful dinner, all of his favorites, and she thought that once he had the amnesty in his hand, the only thing on his mind would be their wedding. And now, once again, all he was thinking about was Heyes.
He could see her annoyance and decided to try to be a little more conciliatory.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He saw her soften at his endearment. "I was just thinkin' that maybe we should fix up the guest room for when he comes back? Seems wrong for him to be in the bunkhouse now that we're gettin' married, since he's family."
She recognized his attempt to appease her and managed not to roll her eyes at his suggestion.
She had been pleasantly surprised that no one had spoken to him about Heyes, whose name had been plastered all over the newspapers for two weeks after his arrest. First, with surprise at his capture and speedy trial, and then with shock at the harshness of a sentence given to a man who had never physically harmed anyone. She knew from the attitudes of the townspeople and the sullen faces of her own ranch hands, that they didn't believe her story.
But for whatever reason, it seemed that they had chosen to stay quiet, and Jed was as much in the dark now as he had always been. If he wanted to believe that Heyes might come back, then where was the harm in humoring him? She couldn't very well tell him the truth.
She smiled at him, filling her eyes with innocence and love. "I think that's a good idea! I'll talk to Micky about it tomorrow. But for now, why don't we celebrate?"
He kissed her and taking her hand, followed her inside.
When Micky came the next day to fix up the room, he took his orders from Mary. She had been fortunate so far that the ranch hands and Jed had not spoken about Heyes. They were obviously not happy about what had happened and were keeping Jed at a distance; and he, sensing their dislike, didn't speak to them unless it was about work. She intended to keep it like that as long as possible. She knew that he would find out eventually, but the longer she could delay it, the better.
They finished the room and it sat there, empty and unused, as the time went by.