Dan was silent for a while, trying to figure out what Wade meant by his mysterious and altogether unsettling choice of words. He gave up.

"Will you please tell me why you didn't want to come here?"

"No."

"It's only noon—"

"That's a lot of time for me to get angry at you for asking questions."

"Fine."

Neither spoke, each staring resolutely at the metal gate holding them in. Dan started running his nails along the wood at his back. "How strong do you think they made this back wall?"

"Strong enough, Dan. They fixed it recently." Wade pointed to the remnants of splinters from reinforcing the wall. Shiny new nails showed their heads through the wall.

"Shit."

"Indeed."

"Shouldn't we be trying to escape, Ben?" Will asked cautiously, his gaze careful as he looked at the other from the corner of his eye.

"We could. But we'd only tire ourselves out. Better to wait till they take us out."

"In chains."

"Could be worse."

The pair lapsed into silence again. Neither knew exactly what to say and thus said nothing at all. The quiet stretched on unsettlingly, interrupted only by the sounds of resumed life in the rest of the town. At one point, Dan could have sworn that he heard William's voice coming closer to their cell, but his mind may as well have been playing tricks on him, for the boy never showed. For that he was thankful.

They had been sitting in the cell for well over three hours, putting the current time around mid-afternoon, when Dan stifled a yawn and laid his head back against the wall.

"Comfortable?" Ben asked in amusement. Leave it to the rancher to be tired in jail.

"No," Dan replied shortly. He yelped in surprise when Ben grabbed his legs and pulled him over in front of his chest.

"Lean back," he ordered, keeping Dan still between his legs as the man struggled to move away.

"Ben," he protested, glancing at the cell door.

"You need to sleep. I know that stay in the hotel did you good, but you still need to sleep. Stop struggling," he said in frustration, locking his arms about Dan's chest and pulling his back to recline against his own. "Good," Wade said, closing his eyes and only slightly loosening his hold.

"Ben—"

"Shut up." Ben pretended to sleep in order to stave off any more of Dan's protesting. The rancher eventually gave up trying to move away and relaxed, falling asleep almost instantly. Ben then opened his eyes and watched the doorway to the main of the sheriff's office, his ears equally as alert. No one moved in the building. All the noise and bustle remained on the streets as the inhabitants enjoyed their fresh gossip.

"Stupid," he muttered to himself, cursing his inattention to detail upon entering the town. But they had been waiting for them. So they had known that they were coming. Perhaps last night? Maybe the sheriff had actually seen them. That would probably explain why he thought Dan, too, was a prisoner, though how one man, no matter their physical condition, could keep watch over a teenager and a feisty rancher completely escaped him. A quiet laugh rippled from his lips, though he quickly squelched it as Dan moved in his sleep. He sat still, holding Dan to himself protectively as he remembered his last stay in Sadie's jail cell.

It had been shortly after his mother left him at the train station, giving him the only thing she was willing to give: her Bible. He had been sitting there for three days, diligently flipping pages as he read the pages, never looking up from his book until reaching the back cover. That was when he had realized she was gone. Hopelessness and confusion had frozen him to his seat, tying his heart to the last place he had ever seen his mother. Another half a day had passed as he just sat there, eyes embarrassingly vacant as tears slipped down his face.

"Boy," someone had called at some point on the fourth day. He hadn't looked up to meet the man's eyes. The man called to him again before moving closer and picking him up. He had still been small then. Weak. Alone. He hadn't struggled, instead going limp in the man's arms and clutching tightly the Bible as he accepted the fact that his mother was not coming back. The man had carried him off the platform, which was far larger and more decorated than the one at Contention, though if asked the location he wouldn't give the city's name. Part of his mind strove to push that away, thereby eliminating the false hope of one day finding his mother again.

The man had put him down as soon as they were off the platform, kneeling before him so that they were eye to eye, had Ben been looking at the man's eyes.

"Boy," he had said quietly. "You've been sitting here for well on four days. I think it's time you left." Ben had nodded numbly but stood still, not moving, as tears continued to slide down his cheeks. The man brought a hand up and wiped the tears away. "You don't have anywhere to go?" Ben shook his head a negative. The man had sighed. "Alright, you're coming with me as soon as my boy gets back from his Grandma's.

"He coming on the train?" little Ben had asked quietly, timidly.

"Yes."

"My momma went to go get us tickets. I think she only bought one."

"I'm sorry," the man said quietly. "Let's sit here, on this bench here, and wait for the train, okay?" Ben had nodded, obediently taking a seat next to the man but keeping a little distance between them.

They had waited for the man's son, who turned out to be only five years older then Ben himself, and rode back to the hotel the man had a room in. Ben refused the offer of the extra bed, instead sleeping wrapped in an extra blanket on the floor. The next morning they had set out on their ride to Sadie, taking four days a quick pace on well conditioned horses to make the trip. Ben had remained silent on the horse while the father and son had talked. It was on the fourth day when they neared the city that the man clipped his sheriff's badge on. Ben leaned around the man and looked at it in surprise, his eight-year-old eyes noting the shine of the bronze in the sun with a sort of glee. Sheriff Rodger Cane it had read in little letters neatly engraved onto that shiny surface. The man had glanced back at him, smiling a little, before turning and speaking again to his son. The three rode into the town, quickly being mobbed by a swarm of welcomes and hellos along with many questions regarding Ben's appearance. The man had answered the questions succinctly while his son nodded the appropriate hellos. The threesome made their way from the crowd to the sheriff's office, pulling to a stop and dismounting before clomping up the battered wooden stairs and into the old office. It looked much better now, Wade noted absently, momentarily interrupting his daydreams to glance again about the little cell. Dan remained asleep against his chest, head lolling slightly to the side. The noises outside of the building remained largely the same, though slightly louder in volume. It was closer to evening now, so it made sense that more people would be out on the streets as they arrived home from working outside the town or picked up last minute ingredients someone had forgotten. No doubt they were all being given a healthy portion of gossip related to the capture of the notorious Ben Wade and Dan Evans, especially if Alice lived somewhere nearby. Things would get interesting is she showed up.

Slowly the sounds of the town faded to the background and once again his thoughts were claimed by the past. He remembered his first night in the sheriff's home; the older son's angry glances at him as they were forced to share a room, the father's frustration as he drank his whiskey, his yells, his curses, his maniac tears in the shelter of his room. Most of all he remembered the dreams. In his sleep, he saw his mother coming back to the station platform only to find the bench empty. His mother would frantically scan the crowd, her mouth moving as she called his name in panic, his own screamed replies coming out silent as his mother cried and boarded the train. If only he had waited longer. If only he had waited longer…

Then he would wake up, the sheriff's son, Bobby, angrily shaking his shoulder as he told the frightened Ben to stop screaming. Apparently his cries were only silent when they mattered.

He lived in that house for a week before the son was due to another trip to the grandmothers. He had asked why and received only a glare from the drunken sheriff. He had wondered how such a man was the body of law in the town. Then he had realized that the man was always composed in the face of his people, somehow overcoming the alcohol to do the job no one else wanted or could do the same as him.

It had happened the day after the son left. The sheriff had gotten drunk, going further than usual in his madness, calling out for his wife and answering himself as he cried, throwing emptied bottles to the floor and ordering Ben to clean them up. He had. Then he got too close to the sheriff's feet, accidentally sending the man stumbling as he raged at the air.

"Boy!" he had hollered, pulling himself up from the floor with visible effort. He grabbed another bottle, took the remaining gulp and threw it to the floor, missing and instead hitting a terrified Ben square on the back, the glass grating itself into his skin. Ben had found out later that the scars that glass left would be permanent.

"Boy!" the man hollered again, watching as Ben shrank in upon himself in fear and pain. Then the man had passed out, his eyes rolling up into his head and the alcohol drawing him down to the floor. Ben remained huddled in a ball of pain amid the glass shards, wincing as he reached back to pull the largest from his skin. He had stayed, not because he wanted to, but because he had nowhere else to go. The sheriff had woken up hours later, taken one look at Ben's unconscious bloody form and, in disgust, whether of himself or the boy, had dragged him outside a good ways from the town. But something happened then that the sheriff wasn't anticipating.

Someone saw him.

In panic, the sheriff had done something stupid. Something he had looked at seconds later and nearly fainted from shock. He had shot the man, twice, through the head, killing the witness instantly. Then he had looked at Ben, put the gun next to him, and rushed back to the town, hurriedly rallying his officers because of gunshots he had heard.

Ben had woken back in this jail cell, though in much more pain, and much more confused. He had called for help, for anyone, but no one answered. Finally he resolved to try and pull more of the glass shards from his back, nearly passing out with the pain. He had fallen asleep again, only to be woken by a sharp kick to the ribs.

"Wake up, mongrel," an officer said gruffly.

"What?"

"Get your ass up, murderer." Without further patience, the man grabbed his arm, yanking Ben to his feet and ignoring his cry of pain.

"Who did I kill?" he wailed in confusion. "I never killed anyone!"

"You never killed?" the man had sneered, looming close to his face as he pulled the boy down the stairs. "Then how did Jeffrey Cane die, huh boy? You saying he pulled the gun on himself and stuck it in your hands?"

"Gun?"

"Stupid son-of-a-bitch."

"Don't insult my mother!" Ben had cried back defiantly. The man had only hit him across the face, then turned him to face the crowd. Ben blinked. A noose. A crowd. He was accused of murder. His eight year old mind had put together some of the pieces. Not all, but enough to know that he needed to get the hell out of there.

"But I didn't do anything wrong! Don't I get a trial?"

"Lawbreakers don't need no trials," the sheriff had said from beneath the noose, his eyes hard, steely, cold. They'd have to be, for one who was able to kill a brother and frame an innocent child.

Ben bit, he struggled, he lashed out, all to no avail. Then he reached back and grabbed a remaining shard of glass, swiping at the one place sure to hurt any man. That had worked. Very well. His guard had paled and fallen to the ground while the shocked crowd stared. Ben took the opportunity to run, slipping into the unmanned barn behind the hotel and grabbing the first horse he found. Bareback, he had galloped out into the street, turning the horse this way and that and making it virtually impossible to get in range without being in danger of dying by the horse's hooves. Then the other horses came out from the barn, registering that their stalls had been kicked open and flying through the streets to create more panic. It had worked well enough as a distraction, allowing him the needed time to get out of range before a reasonable search party had been formed. But his memories of the time in Sadie always seemed to find him when he least expected it.

He just hoped the son's way of carrying out the law wasn't nearly as harsh as his creative father's.