Gene swore that he would never come back. Not after what he'd seen. Not after what he'd smelled.
But here he was, staring down the charred and crumbling remains of that disgusting excuse for a hospital. Most of the structure had collapsed, leaving charred, thick hardwood beams to litter the rest of the burned up debris. As he dismounted, he could only hope that the remains of all those who died within had been properly seen to.
"Jesus." Nixon breathed. "There's hardly anything left."
Speirs' hard gaze swept over the scene, but his words were quiet. "Doesn't sound like there was supposed to be."
Winters stepped forward to get a better look. "Do you know which side the office was on, Gene? That's likely where the lockbox is."
Based on what the three had said after returning from burning Simpson's shack, they all agreed the supposed lockbox was worth going after. It was probably a longshot. Surely, everything worth any value had already been taken and any evidence had been properly disposed of. Gene doubted they would get so lucky, but he had been severely outvoted when they discussed returning to the hospital.
Gene forced a hard swallow, the memory of the building that once stood here returning. "The office was right in front."
Lip nodded gently, his voice soft. "I can take a look around the backside, see if anything jumps out."
"I'll come with you." Nixon agreed, walking towards Lip as they started to move for the back of the structure.
Bile rose in Gene's throat, Renée's kerchief burning a hole in his pocket as he watched them go. The idea of any of them poking around such a mass grave sickened him. But what choice did they have? He fell into step behind Winters and Speirs as they circled around the front towards what remained of the stairs where the crudely fashioned metal handrail stood lonely guard.
"Careful of the steps." Winters cautioned as they approached. "None of us can afford to get hurt right now."
Speirs took to the stairs first, testing his weight on the charred wood. It seemed to hold and he continued up the last two. "There's footprints here." He said suddenly, crouching down to zero in on the disturbed ash and soot. "At least two, maybe three sets."
"Probably others in search of this fabled treasure." Winters speculated as they crossed through what Gene knew used to be the front archway.
"Agreed." Speirs confirmed, pointing at swirls and patterns along the charred remains. "Someone has come through before us and moved things around - cleaned up."
"Hopefully burying the dead." Gene grumbled, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets for something to do.
"Maybe." Speirs answered noncommittally, rising to his full height and moving with cautious steps, angling over a disfigured pile. He hissed as he snatched a hand back. "Mind the nails."
"Did one get you?" Gene glared at him in annoyance, but the other man said nothing as he continued to move amongst the charred remains.
"Nothing to be found, Dick." Nixon's voice carried on the breeze as more careful footfalls crossed up the front steps.
"Fine. We're still looking here." Winters motioned at Speirs who had crouched down again. "He's found evidence that others have been here before us."
"Did they take the lockbox?" Lip asked.
"Don't know yet." Gene answered, glaring ahead as Speirs stood abruptly, turning a few more steps before staring intently down. He lifted a boot, toeing at something. "Use your hands, for christ's sake. You're traipsing on a gravesite. If you cut yourself again, I'll fix you up."
With an obvious look of displeasure, Speirs crouched again and started gingerly moving indiscernible burned material away. "Whoever was here before us tried to cover it up."
That spurred the rest of them forward, trying to tread the trail that Speirs had woven through the debris.
"Is it on it's side?" Lip asked, coming alongside him.
"No," he grunted in effort, "lend a hand."
In the end, it took three of them to move the heavy, charred beam aside. The glossy face of a safe lay beneath, the bright bronze of the dial glinting in the sun.
"A safe in the floor. Some lockbox." Nixon marveled with a shake of his head. "Crafty bastards really didn't want anyone to know what they were up to."
Lip crouched down next to Speirs. "Whoever was here before didn't have the combination. Just look at the scratches." White scratches lined up all around the dial, indicative of an effort to try and pry the dial off the front. The door handle also looked a little disfigured with accompanying dull, white marks around it.
"Looks like they might have even gone after it with a hammer." Speirs speculated, pointing to the handle. "A big hammer, at that."
Winters braced a hand against his hip. "Well, it wouldn't be a good safe if it opened that easily. But now, we have to find a way to open it."
"You've got good hearing, don't you Lip?" Nixon asked, glancing over.
"Not that good, sir." He looked down at the dial, leaning in closer as he gave the dial a trial spin. "Sounds like something got loose or damaged in the previous attempts to open. Wouldn't be able to hear anything over that rattle."
Nixon looked up with a halfway, hesitant shrug. "Could...could ride into the next town over. Bring the blacksmith back with a sturdy crowbar? Or drag the safe to him and try to – I don't know – knock a hole in it? Or heat up the metal until it can be pried open?"
Gene scoffed. "That's hardly practical."
"I wasn't trying for practical. We just need something that's possible. And, hell, I don't even know if it's that. I've never had to consider breaking into a safe before."
Lip prodded around the exposed edges of the safe. "I don't think all of our horses together could drag it out. There's some sort of substructure here. Looks like it's tightly anchored to prevent something like that from happening."
Speirs stood up slowly, wiping a hand against the leg of his trousers as he glanced back out towards his horse. "Be right back."
"You better be going somewhere useful." Gene grumbled, darting a sharp look at the taller man as he moved away from the group.
"It's alright, Gene." Lip offered with a reassuring nod to the tense younger man.
"No, it's not." Gene shot back. "Robbing a gravesite is never alright."
"Ordinarily, I'd agree with you." Winters consoled. "But if the contents of that safe lead to the conviction of the man who murdered all these people, I hope God will forgive us our trespasses here."
"Well, what else do we have?" Nixon started again, looking around. "It's someone else's turn for an idea how we get this safe open."
Speirs' returning footsteps made the structure creak as he moved back over. It took them all a moment to register what he held in his hands. A couple of long, narrow cylinders were bunched together and he was actively tying the fuses together. The fuses of dynamite sticks.
Three voices chimed out at once.
"Where did you get that?"
"Holy shit."
"What is wrong with you, ridin' around with that stuff!?"
Speirs didn't glance up from the fuses, voice cool. "If we have any other working ideas, I'm all ears."
An uneasy silence fell as they watched him finish off the knot. Was this really the best idea?
"You ever shot off dynamite before?" Lip asked quietly, standing up.
"Once. Figured it blows through rock pretty well. Why not try it on metal?"
Lip nodded at the knotted fuses. "How will you set it off? Someone will have to be pretty close."
"Right next to it, in fact."
Winters shook his head, resolute. "Absolutely not. We can't take that risk."
"That's why everyone else will be back with the horses. If not standing farther back."
"Didn't know you were a runner, Sparky." Nix quipped, sounding decidedly less than amused.
"Only when I have to be."
A general air of dreaded resignation settled as no one voiced any more arguments or excuses.
Lip glanced back down at the safe before looking to Speirs. "Setting it along the dial should do it, I think." He clapped a supportive hand to the taller man's upper arm. "Good luck."
"We're just gonna let him blow himself up?" Gene asked, looking incredulously among the group as they started to move away.
"Not sure we have much of a choice." Winters conceded.
Nixon laughed a cynical sound. "I'm not about to stop him. He's got that maniacal look he gets sometimes."
Winters looked back to Speirs and then at the horses. "We should probably put some more paces between us, though."
"Does anyone know about the first time he shot off dynamite?" Lip asked cautiously as they lead their horses away a few more steps. "Why? Or how it went?"
"Well, he's still standing." Nixon offered with a nod back towards the man in question, noting a rising trickle of smoke. "With all his arms and legs. Fingers, too."
Gene glowered, muttering under his breath. "How about the other guy?"
Speirs took off at a dead sprint through the debris, but he just barely reached the edge of the structure before the ground shook. A white cloud of smoke erupted into view, the boom of explosion reverberating in their ears. The accompanying whoosh of air had them all staggering for their balance, hats blown off their heads as they struggled to keep a grip on the horses' reins. The horses whinnied and neighed, desperate to flee from the disturbance.
Dark flakes of ash and splintered debris floated in the air as the smoke started to clear.
"Whoa, whoa." Nixon tried to soothe the frightened animal next to him, gripping the reins tighter. "Do you think he used enough?"
"Did he get clear?" Lip's voice sounded over the horses' cries.
"He's on the ground." Gene answered.
Winters stroked the side of his horse's head as it settled, the rest starting to calm in the aftermath. "Go see to him, Gene."
He handed the reins over to Lip, coughing against the fouled air as he walked back towards the structure. At least Speirs was moving. With a shake of his head, the taller man pushed himself up to sit, blinking harshly and grimacing. It was an odd sight to see Ron Speirs out of sorts.
"Did you blow your ears out?" Gene asked, coming to a stop before him.
"I can hear you." Speirs confirmed with another pained shake of his head. "They're ringing something fierce, though."
Gene's lips ticked up. "That's not surprising." He knelt down, taking assessment. "You alright otherwise?"
"I think so."
"You've got a good splinter in your leg. Doesn't look any worse than the scratch on your hand, though." Gene watched him roll his shoulder, wincing with the movement. "Did you jump or were you thrown?"
"Both."
"You'll likely turn black and blue on that side for a few days. I don't envy you waking up in the morning."
"He going to make it?" Nixon's voice carried over as Gene pivoted to see them approaching the building remains.
"He's going to make it." Gene confirmed, turning back to find Speirs pushing up to his feet with a groan. He wobbled for a step and Gene sprung up, extending a hand to steady him. Where Gene expected to receive a dismissal and denial from the other man, there was only silence. That was almost more concerning than anything else. Had he also hit his head, maybe?
Gene sighed softly. "You want me to get that wooden shiv out of your leg before you try to walk anymore?"
"No," Speirs grit with a limping step. "It'll keep until you can clean it proper. I'll not have you open it up later if it closes now."
Gene nodded slowly in understanding, even if he didn't like the answer.
"I'll say he used enough." Lip's voice reached them as they neared the remains of the front steps. "It's a miracle nothing inside also went up."
"What a record keeper."
"Look later, Nix. That explosion will draw attention, and we need to get out of here. We're too exposed."
"Come on," Gene encouraged, turning from watching the others pull ledgers and folders out of the safe to look back at Speirs. "It'll take us a while to get you situated to ride."
A subdued atmosphere lingered around the meager fire that night. The rainstorm that surprised them later in the afternoon had lasted just long enough to make their clothing sticky damp and the wood too wet for a steady fire.
Speirs laid on his back, trying to ignore the various aches in his body and the moisture seeping up from the ground through the bedroll. Loathe as he was to admit it, he wasn't as young as he used to be. He knew the more he pushed his body to do things like he used to, the sooner he would find himself unable to do so. It didn't make the thought any less frustrating as he shifted against a root, body protesting at the movement.
"Still awake?" Roe's voice drifted over, increasing the pounding in his skull.
"Yes." It further didn't improve his mood that Roe seemed convinced that he had a head injury. He'd already been warned that when he did fall asleep, someone would rouse him every now and then to check his mental faculties. The very thought insulted him, but there was nothing for it.
Thing of it was, Roe could be right. There was no way to know for sure.
Speirs cracked an eye open, taking in the yellow fire glow dancing in the treetops and the dark sky sprinkled with stars beyond. If not for the rustling movement of papers and the conversation around the fire, it would be a peaceful night.
"God, their names aren't even recorded." The disheartened sadness in Nixon's voice was palpable. "Woman #124 – admitted for heathen worshiping. Woman #125 – admitted for heathen worshiping. Man #89 – admitted for uncontrollable violence. Oh, god – Child #46 – admitted for heathen worshiping."
"They had children in that place?" Dick's voice was equally heavy with raw emotion.
"At least 46 of them over the years. Based on these entries."
"It looks like these receipts have been coded to match." Lip added, shuffling some papers. "W124 - one woven dress. Beaded bracelet and necklace. Moccasins. W125 – woven dress, moccasins, basket, blanket. They read like a receipt of goods the person had on them when they were admitted."
"Except there's a total value and signatures at the bottom." Roe's voice was gentle, pained. "Everyone's goods were sold."
"Sold all the patients' goods, and we know where they went." Nixon echoed heavily. "Doesn't sound like anyone expected a healing prognosis."
No one voiced the unspoken rest. The deaths of all those from the fire had been the obvious ones, but it was staggering to think of the mistreatment and death that lingered before that place burned to the ground.
A sniffle sounded over a gentle shuffle of paper.
"These signatures are a little hard to make out." Lip said softly, reverently. "But hopefully we can cull a few names from the scratches."
"Did they even know what they were signing?" Dick asked absently. "How could anyone willingly take money from such a sale?"
"There were a few good souls who were trying to help. Who wanted to make a difference in the squalor." Roe's voice pitched deep, burning with something unspoken. Speirs wanted to say it had to do with the blue cloth that was now torn in two, wrapped around his left hand and right leg as bandages. The younger man had looked so conflicted when he pulled the cloth from his pocket before resigning himself to put it to use.
"Were they able to get out before the fire?" Nixon asked warily, as if already knowing the answer.
"No. Just another innocent name swallowed up in the carnage."
Speirs focused on the crackling sounds of the weak fire. It was indeed an awful truth to grasp. How man could be so cruel to his fellow man. He'd been too little at the time to understand much about the war between brothers and his father had been too wealthy to serve. But the horrors of slavery had been well publicized in the north and he'd certainly seen plenty of cruelty in his time with the cavalry. People so blinded with hatred for other skin color that they lost all sense of moral compass.
He still remembered that night of the raid all too well. The one where he took two arrows in the shoulder. He'd been too focused on putting a bullet in the head of his own man who was brutalizing an innocent woman, instead of watching of own back. The arrows hit him, and the details got fuzzy until he woke up on a bed laden with a bison hide.
He sighed deep through the discomfort in his chest, trying to lessen the onslaught of memories. They wouldn't help him heal, or bring Dike to account. Or get him closer to seeing Lily again.
God, he hoped that she was alright. He wanted to see her crooked, proud little smile when she recounted the history stories wrong. He wanted to hold her close in his arms, in his bed, every night. He wanted to see the love that she was terrible at hiding in her green eyes for the rest of his days.
But first, they had to solve this fucking mess. No man should be able to hide behind a badge of the law in connection to such atrocities. He had to concede that maybe Dick was right – maybe Dike didn't have an inkling of what was really happening on the grand scale. Maybe he just rounded people up or staged the attacks so others would rally behind support for such a hospital. Neither thought was redeeming.
"M61." Lip's voice came soft again, but there was a strange note of urgency to it. "If that doesn't read like 'Norman Dike' to you…" There was a soft shuffling, the sound of paper passing.
"Well, I'll be." Dick's voice held a distinct note of awe. "I hoped we'd find something like this, but goodness, that's a good find."
"Here's another – M62." Lip handed over another receipt.
"These men have names." Nixon's voice cut through, heavy with shock. "Jack Collins and Donald Burns."
"What?" Roe said sharply. "How could they swing that?"
"Admitted for illicit relations. Both of them." Nixon finished as a log on the fire popped.
"Was it just those two listed?" Lip asked.
"They're the only two listed on the page."
Lip spoke hesitantly. "If that's the case...it begs the question why they weren't hung for their crimes. Or lynched."
Dick sighed heavily. "Maybe they knew admission to that place would be a worse punishment."
The tension in Nixon's voice was rampant. "That isn't right. None of this is fucking right."
"We'll get him. We have to." Dick's voice held an unfamiliar determination. If Speirs had to guess further, it almost sounded like fury – or as furious as a man like Dick was prone to get. "We should take all this to Colonel Sink."
"Don't you mean Marshal Sink?" Nixon quipped.
"Who's that?" Roe asked.
"Our former commanding officer. Now, he's the head of the western division of US Marshals." Dick said, a note of pride in his voice.
Speirs likened it to laying down the wining ace in a hand of poker. He shifted ever so slightly, gazing over. "Where do we find him?"
Night after night, this spot on the floor had proved to be the least drafty place in the cell. With knees tucked to her chest, Lily pulled on the hem of her dress in another futile attempt to have it cover more of her legs and her stocking clad feet. Her shoes been taken shortly after her imprisonment, and she hadn't been given anything more.
A wicked cold spell had settled in the town. It didn't always get cold in September - was it even still September? - but temperatures had hovered near bone cold for the past several nights without reprieve.
She glanced over at the cot with bleary eyes. There wasn't even a threadbare blanket for her to wrap up with. She rubbed her hands along her arms as she rested her head on the wall she leaned against. It wasn't comfortable by any means to spend every night curled up in a ball against the wood wall of her cell, but it was the warmest. In another form of cruel torture, the stove fire was thoroughly extinguished every night before Dike left, and it didn't take long for the piercing cold to find its way through the wood and windows, dropping the room temperature to uncomfortable, numbing levels.
A shiver racked through her, teeth chattering as she curled in tighter on herself, trying to conserve heat. Of course, it didn't help that she hadn't had a proper meal in days. Weeks? She couldn't really remember anymore. The days of hunger pangs, cruel slurs, and nights of freezing cold loneliness were starting to blur together.
But she tried to take comfort in her thoughts. Surely, even though he'd dismissed her, Dick had to know that she'd been arrested. As much as Dike was after whatever knowledge she had about the men of Easy, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to lure them in, announcing that he'd imprisoned one of their whores. One who was bound for the gallows if his bluster was to be believed. Though, the judge had yet to show to render the official verdict.
And if Dick knew she was arrested, then surely he and the others were working on a way to get her out. She knew him well enough to know that he could never let injustice stand. Maybe today would be the day. Maybe they'd kick the door down, take out the marshal and swing the door to her cell wide open. Then she'd be free to collapse, hide away from the world. Preferably in Ron's arms. To be wrapped up in his fierce possessiveness. God, how she longed to hear his voice. Always so strong, so sure.
Thudding, scuffing boot falls on the porch outside stopped her wool gathering. The door swung open, unashamedly ushering in a cold blast of air that swept around her cell. She couldn't even hide her shivering as two wool-coat clad men entered. Dike's form was familiar enough these days, but the other man was new to her. He wasn't an overly imposing figure, but his coat looked a tad nicer than Dike's, his hawkish face clean-shaven. His gaze pierced with a coldness that rivaled the winter wind, utterly without remorse or sympathy.
"Federal Judge Herbert Sobel." He turned without waiting for her acknowledgement, shedding his coat to reveal clean, well-made clothes beneath. Dike set about lighting a fire in the stove as Sobel took a seat at the desk, opening a ledger that she had previously not noticed.
"Before we begin, Miss Martin," Sobel continued, shooting her a glance that spoke of annoyance and condescension, "I'm required by law to remind you that any testimony you offer here will be fairly weighed before final verdict is rendered."
"This –." Her voice croaked, barely recognizing it, hoarse as it was from the cold and lack of water. "This is it? My hearing?"
Dike turned towards her with a disapproving glare. "Don't flatter yourself, whore. You're not fit for a public hearing." He stalked back over to the door, opening it wider than necessary to admit more cold air as he left. Uncontrollable tremors racked her frame again as the jail filled with the soft sounds of wood catching fire, the scratching of a quill against paper. In a different setting, these sounds would probably be very soothing, domestic. But with her stomach cramped from hunger and heavy in her throat, and the rigid form of the beady eyed judge across the room, she was anything but soothed.
In what seemed like short order, the door swung back open with a jarring bang, admitting the frigid chill, but this time, bringing a heavenly aroma with it. Food. Hot food. Bacon, biscuits, gravy. Her stomach growled in protest, mouth watering at the delicious smells. The small bread roll and glass of water she was given every day were just not enough. She stared longingly at the cast iron dutch oven as Dike set it on the desk, lifting the lid to release small wisps of steam, the smell growing stronger. Absently, Sobel reached a spindly hand over, lifting a piece of bacon to take a bite. Her empty stomach seized in another aching cramp.
"Now, Miss Martin," Sobel sounded completely unconcerned. As if he was just about to ask her about the weather. "What is the nature of your relationship with Richard Davis Winters?"
She gulped, nervously. "He's my employer."
Sobel's pen scratched. "And the nature of your relationship with Lewis Nixon III?"
"He's also my employer."
"What do they employ you for?"
"Overseeing the saloon girls. Other domestic chores - cooking, washing, mending."
"Are you married to either of your employers?"
"Married?"
"You'd be surprised how many painted ladies are married to their employers. Claiming wedded fealty in defense of their sins."
Her brow furrowed. "What exactly am I being tried for?"
"Please answer the question, Miss Martin. Are you married to either Mr. Winters or Mr. Nixon?"
"No."
The pen resumed scratching. "Was your relationship with either Mr. Winters or Mr. Nixon intimate in nature?"
Offense bristled within her. What business was it of his? And how could it possibly relate to her crime of supposedly harboring a known outlaw? "No."
"I suppose now would be a good time to remind you that lying to a federal judge is severely punishable and could result in overturning any favorable verdict that might be rendered."
She shook her head, bitter anger welling within her. "We both know there's no chance in hell that you're considering a favorable verdict."
"Very well." Sobel's face was utterly expressionless as he looked down to resume writing. "Let the record show the defendant offered no truthful testimony to corroborate the information provided by a witness of the court."
"A witness?" She mumbled, head spinning. Who had…had someone really been spying on her? She still didn't want to believe it true. She licked her chapped lips. "Nixon. Mr. Nixon and I shared…an intimate relationship."
"The record shall stand amended." Nothing in Sobel's voice changed. It was downright uncanny. "And did you ever receive compensation for your services?"
Her stomach soured on the implication. "Never. He – we," she struggled through her weakened state to find words. "It wasn't like that."
"What is the nature of your relationship with R.C. Speirs?"
"He's, uh….fellow employee, I suppose. He works for Mr. Winters and Mr. Nixon."
"What do they employ him for?"
"I don't know exactly." She chose her words carefully. "I've…seen him tend the bar. Manage supply shipments, oversee them personally sometimes. Don't know if he's involved with the bookkeeping."
"Are you married to Mr. Speirs?"
"No." Her heart clenched.
"Was your relationship with Mr. Speirs intimate in nature?"
Could she lie about this one? Whoever the spy was likely didn't know about him. But if she was bound for the gallows regardless, did it really matter? "Yes, it was. And no money."
Sobel's pen continued scratching on the paper. "At this point, testimony has established the defendant was thoroughly acquainted with the guilty parties in question. There can be no case made for the defendant not recognizing or not knowing the fugitive Speirs who was being harbored by Winters and Nixon." He paused for a bite of biscuit. "Now, when did you become aware that Mr. Speirs was wanted by the law?"
"I didn't know."
"Do I need to remind you –"
"I said I didn't know." She wasn't going to admit to having seen his wanted poster. She drew a sharp breath. "At least, I didn't know until after the shootout at the saloon, and after Mr. Winters turned me away. I…I came back to town and saw the poster. Thieving and looting, I think was the listed crime."
"You mean to say that all while Mr. Speirs was harbored at the saloon, you were unaware of his crimes."
"Yes."
"Did you know that he was injured?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how he came to be injured?"
"He was shot."
"Were you aware that he was shot by Marshal Dike in performance of his duties?"
She grit her teeth, doing her best to offer the judge a level glare. "No, I was not aware."
Sobel looked down, quickly skimming over his notes. "Given testimony provided, the defendant shared an intimate relationship with Mr. Speirs but was not aware of how he sustained the aforementioned wounds. This does not speak to an intimate relationship wholesome in nature. When taken in context with the aforementioned relationship shared with Mr. Nixon, the defendant has shown herself to be a woman of loose morals whose integrity of character is a subject of doubt for the court."
"Loose morals?" Her brow pinched tighter, anger tightening her jaw. "What crimes do I stand accused of? I asked earlier – surely, I must have a right to know."
Dike snorted a laugh, gnawing on a piece of bacon. Sobel just looked down at her, devoid of all expression. It only angered her further.
"I would have thought that'd be obvious, Miss Martin -"
"Dike said he only hauled me in here for harboring a known criminal. Nothing about my charact-"
"Your character has everything to do with the crime for which you stand accused. For example, if your testimony supported a life of kind deeds, community support, and god-fearing virtue, the court could weigh in favor of your innocence. But your testimony this morning, corroborated by the aforementioned witness of the court, has now established crimes against society of moral indecency, promiscuity and dishonorable intentions."
"But that's not –"
"Another word of backtalk, and I will add contempt for my court to the list." Sobel cut her off with a menacing glare that sent a shiver down her spine. Whatever hope she might have had to escape the gallows withered under his look. His look that told her he would mold her words to suit his purposes no matter what she said, or how she tried to defend herself. There was nothing else she could do. Opening her mouth any further now seemed useless.
"Now," Sobel continued as if he had never stopped, "when taking the defendant's testimony in context with the firsthand account of the court appointed witness, it is clear the integrity of the defendant cannot be established, and therefore, such statements presented here cannot be considered valid by the court." She bit her lip to keep from yelling out. Or yelling out as much as her parched throat would let her. "As such, court has no choice but to render a guilty verdict for all counts. The defendant, Lily Josephine Martin, is hereby sentenced to the gallows where she will be hung by the neck until dead. Sentence shall be executed two weeks from today."
Dike guffawed in disgust as tears welled in her eyes. "Two weeks from today? Hell, Herbert it's early enough – let's hang her today and be done with it. Surely, that'll bring those boys -"
"All in due time, Norman." Sobel said, without looking up from his ledger as he continued to write. "The proper documents must be prepared and the system allowed to process her accordingly before the just sentence is served."
"Just sentence." She grumbled, a tear rolling down her cheek. "There is no justice in what you're doing. Either of you. They're not…none of us are the criminals you say we are."
"Oh, please," Dike rolled his eyes on a yawn, "so you were fucking two of them. Doesn't mean you know what these men are capable of."
"Probably not." She agreed. "But I do know that they are loyal and capable of far more than you give them credit. And yes, Dick may have dismissed me because he suspected a spy which you've already tipped that hand. But when he and the others hear that you've swung me from the gallows – there's no place in the world that you two cockless bastards will be able to hide where they won't find you."
Anger blazed in Dike's eyes as he took a sharp step forward, only to be stopped as Sobel rose from the desk. The corners of his mouth tightened as he took small measured steps over to her cell, the expression on his face otherwise unchanged. He stopped before the bars, hands clasped behind his back.
"Stand up, Miss Martin." There was no mistaking the command. With slow, shaky movements, she struggled to her feet. Her muscles, stiff from the cold and curled up position, protested as she stood looking up at the judge who stood a good head taller. "Now, let me be very clear," he continued, his voice deadly calm, lethal. "You will maintain a civil tongue in your unprepossessing face; otherwise, we will arrange to have it taken care of."
She shook her head, shaking with anger. "I knew it…I fucking knew it." She hissed. "They said Dike was crooked. Dirty. Speculated that you were, too. Hang me and they'll have all the proof they need, you lying little shit. How will you do it, hmm? Cut my tongue out yourself? No – no, you're much too much of a dude to get your hands dirty. Probably hire someone to make it look like a raid or attack on the jail. Natives, right? It's easy to blame them for so much."
Sobel's eyes widened, but he remained otherwise unimpressed. "The gallows will be too merciful for you, Miss Martin." He returned to the desk without another glance, making a last notation before wiping off the tip of his quill and closing the ledger. "I'll have the papers sent once they've been processed by my office. Then, execution of the sentence may proceed."
"What…," Dike paused, yawning, "you won't be here for the hanging?"
"Regrettably, I must pass." Sobel said, rising and straightening his jacket, reaching for his coat. "There are so many greater needs in the territory. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes, of course." Dike motioned to the remains of the breakfast. "Would you care for anymore before you go?"
"I couldn't possibly eat another bite, delicious as it was. Please pass along my compliments."
"High praise, sir. Thank you."
"As for the rest, do what you will with it." Sobel cut a scathing look at her in the cell. "Toss it to the pigs for all I care."
