Cort struggled to keep his attention on the book he was holding. It wasn't an engaging read – Toby was running low on material to bring him - and his mind kept wandering off the page. In addition the breakfast he'd eaten an hour ago was lying heavy on his stomach and he was drowsy, which made it even harder to concentrate. Toby was still giving him what seemed like double the portion everyone else got, insisting it would help him recuperate, and he made damned sure every last morsel on the plate was eaten. Cort felt just fine, had done for days, and he strongly suspected the extra food was only expanding his waistline now. He wasn't used to being so inactive, hated being cooped up in the jailhouse all day and night with nothing to do except read or listen to Billy and his boys discuss the imminent trial, but he had no choice. He was nervous and trying not to think about the courthouse. Even though they'd done everything in their power to prepare and had a lot of decent men on their side, the outcome was by no means certain. Should the worst transpire though, he knew Ben Carter would be there with his Remington and that was all the reassurance he needed.
He didn't much fancy going back to the life of an outlaw, hounded and hunted from state to state, but it was infinitely better than a trip to the gallows. He wasn't prepared to die so Henry Usher could prove a point and, should Usher manage to wriggle his way out of the rudimentary trap they'd laid for him, his life's mission would be to hunt the bastard down and bring him to justice. The 400,000 dollars currently buried outside Redemption would certainly help in that cause, but Cort knew he couldn't use it. It belonged to other men and needed returning to them as soon as possible.
He was immensely relieved Ben had finally made peace and knew how difficult it had been for him. He didn't care to admit how much he relied on his deputy and valued their friendship, but during the time they weren't talking he'd been agitated and edgy. The rift between them was always on his mind and consequently his sleep was restless and shallow, frequently interrupted by nightmares. Last night he'd slept soundly for the first time in a week and Toby had trouble waking him up, even for breakfast.
Cort jerked his attention back to the book, still as dull as ditch water, and reached for the mug of coffee on the floor by his bunk. It was empty and he murmured a curse. With the trial less than 24 hours away, excessive caffeine wasn't the smartest move – too much of it, coupled with the adrenaline already pulsing through his body meant he'd be climbing the walls pretty soon but he didn't care. He needed something to stay occupied and hauled himself to his feet, heading for the main office and hoping for a refill. He figured he'd ask Billy for a little whisky to put in it this time, just to help him relax, though it was barely ten o'clock.
The dark, narrow passage leading from the cells to the office was about fifteen feet long. It served to keep the Marshal's business private from his prisoners and was extremely effective in that respect. Unless things got really rowdy, Colt seldom heard any noise and he was beginning to think his jailhouse in Redemption might benefit from a small redesign… As he approached the door he heard the usual gruff conversation in the office – Billy and a couple of his deputies – but there was a new voice among them this time and that was decidedly odd. Billy rarely let anybody into the jailhouse unless they were known and trusted, and the sound of a stranger made Cort stiffen and push himself against the cold stone wall of the passage, straining his ears to catch what was being said.
He couldn't hear much of anything but there seemed to be a debate in progress and it went on for a long time. Eventually he heard boots coming his way and he scuttled back down the passage and into his cell, throwing himself onto the bunk and shoving his hands behind his head nonchalantly, like he'd been there the whole time.
Billy Reynolds arrived seconds later, looking edgy as hell. A few of his boys were following, one of them holding a set of manacles and Cort's heart began pounding. He stared at Billy, trying his best to appear calm.
"What's the occasion?"
Billy stepped into the cell and approached cautiously.
"I got Henry Usher in my office. He's reckons he's come to save your soul."
Cort eyed the restraints. "What are those for?"
Billy smiled grimly. "He's scared of you, Cort. He gotten reports about how crazy you're acting and he wants you chained for his own protection."
Cort frowned. "What if he's carrying a gun?"
Billy shook his head. "He'll get searched real thorough before we let him in and take a look at this!"
He pulled a crisp fifty dollar bill from his pocket. "He didn't say nothing upfront, but seems he might be hoping for something more…"
It took Cort a moment to figure out what he meant, and he was suddenly glad Ben was a long way off. He sat up slowly.
"I'm done with getting hurt, Billy. I need my wits for that trial tomorrow."
A wry grin was pulling at Billy's lips. "We can still give him what he wants. You just remember what you did for the county sheriff and do it again. Me and the boys'll make it sound like a royal riot's going down and you're on the losing end."
Cort smiled. In truth he'd enjoyed playing the part of a wild, desperate outlaw in front of the lawmen. He had plenty of experience to draw from and it hadn't really felt like acting – he'd just opened certain parts of his mind, the parts he usually kept locked up tight, and they were happy enough to find temporary freedom.
He got to his feet and nodded at Billy. "Let's do it!"
Henry Usher walked down the long, dark passageway with caution, still smarting from the humiliation of being searched by a deputy marshal. The man had been extraordinarily thorough in his pursuit of hidden weapons, and none of the usual arguments about being a church representative carried any weight. Usher didn't understand why the deputy was so concerned for the welfare of a common murderer. The way he saw it, if a man were to sneak into Cortez Thompson's cell and shoot him dead they'd be doing the town of Bisbee a huge favour. But he wasn't that man and the deputy's search had revealed nothing except a small bible, a leather wallet and a silk handkerchief.
Billy Reynolds was somebody Usher could get to like. He'd accepted the fifty dollar bill with a knowing smirk and taken three men along with him to restrain the prisoner properly. Usher had listened with relish to the holy commotion coming from the cells and then they'd all returned, tidying their clothes and wiping their brows. Billy had informed him it was safe to proceed and then granted him the privacy he'd requested.
The cells came into view – four of them in total; dim, gloomy little cages with tiny windows and narrow bunks; all comprising three red brick walls with a row of bars making up the fourth. All of them were empty save the one directly ahead, and its door was securely locked and bolted. Usher could see a man's shape in the far corner; he was on his knees, head bowed low and he was wearing manacles on his wrists. Usher approached the bars and stood for a long moment, listening to the sharp intakes of breath and muttered curses with a certain amount of pleasure. Eventually he cleared his throat and the man jerked his head up, piercing him with a murderous glare.
"Was it your idea to have those bastards beat me again?"
Thompson's voice sounded ragged and the effort of talking seemed to hurt because he clutched at his ribs and cursed some more. He was pretty much as Usher remembered him – though wilder looking with a mane of long, shaggy hair, several days of beard growth and some fading bruises on his face. His instincts were right on the money, but Usher just smiled benignly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Thompson struggled to his feet and stood with his shoulder braced against the wall, as though for support. He glowered from under his fringe.
"You could have saved yourself some money. Billy Reynolds does this kind of thing for fun!"
Usher shrugged. "I'm sure the Marshal's only doing what's necessary to keep his town safe from a dangerous criminal."
Thompson spat on the floor by way of response.
"Don't bother trying to save my soul, Usher. I know where I'm going but I'll tell you something; you're headed for a deeper place than me!"
Usher shook his head sadly. "I usually tell a doomed man his soul might be redeemed if he admits to his sins and repents, but yours is beyond saving. Any man who poses as a priest to hide his crimes is undeserving of God's forgiveness."
Thompson just sniggered and came closer to the bars, limping heavily. Usher took a nervous step back before realising there was a chain running from the manacles on his wrists. It was attached to an iron hoop embedded in the wall and it pulled him up, with a snarl and a curse, when he was still several feet away. He fought the restraints for a while, tugging and twisting the chain while obscenities rained from his lips. Eventually he fell silent and turned his attention back to eHUsher.
"I had you fooled though. Henry Usher, the supreme man of God in this territory, so convinced by my holy act that he offered me a job in his goddamned ministry!"
He barked out a laugh which immediately turned into a fit of coughing. Usher felt his face redden slightly.
"I knew you couldn't keep it up, Thompson. When a man's no better than a dog he can't help but revert to type. I only feel sorry for the folks in Hermosillo who believed your bullshit."
Thompson wiped the back of his hand across his mouth then licked his lips.
"Don't feel sorry for 'em; plenty of pretty girls got to experience God's work first hand, and I didn't hear any complaints."
He leered and Usher felt revolted by the shameless display of vulgarity. "How many of them did you rape?"
Thompson laughed again, a little less riotously this time. "I've never paid for a whore in my life and I sure as hell don't need to rape a woman. They throw themselves at me and I generally find myself in a position of accordance."
Usher was getting impatient. He hadn't come here to listen to bragging and bravado. God knew it had taken enough effort to get to the jailhouse unrecognised and he didn't want this visit to be in vain.
"I didn't come here to preach, Thompson, you're not worth it. I came to offer you mercy – a fast trial and a quick death if you co-operate."
Thompson sniffed and eyed him with a marked lack of interest. "You're sure I'll be found guilty then? I reckon you must have slipped that judge a few dollars too..."
Usher's stomach twisted but he forced himself to remain impassive. Thompson had no way of knowing the judge was on his payroll; this was just a desperate man clutching at straws and misguided enough to believe he was innocent. He kept his voice level.
"Your reputation precedes you, I'm afraid. Everyone in that courthouse will recognise your name and folks have got memories long enough to recall John Herod, the crimes committed by his gang and the money you all stole."
Thompson gazed at him quizzically. "What about the money you stole, Usher? At least we were honest about our robberies. We didn't try and hide behind the church!"
Usher shook his head impatiently. "You still believe all those lies Ben Carter told you? The word of a man who deserted you as soon as things got hot? Where's you're buddy when you need him, huh? Somewhere north of Sacramento by now, I shouldn't wonder."
Thompson shrugged. "Next time I see that son of a bitch I'll put a bullet in his head."
"You don't have that luxury anymore." Usher paused to choose his next words carefully.
"Hanging can be a most disagreeable experience. If the knot isn't placed correctly, if the drop is too short it might take an eternity for a man to die. On the other hand, it can be over in a heartbeat. Which would you prefer?"
Thompson was watching him with narrowed eyes. "What the fuck are you saying?"
"You've got something of mine. Something I'd like back without delay. You tell me where it is and I'll make sure you get a merciful death. You don't want pretty girls watching you piss and shit your pants, do you?"
Thompson didn't seem remotely bothered by the idea, he just kept staring. "I got nothing that belongs to you, Usher, so quit wasting your breath."
Usher sighed. He hadn't expected this to be easy.
"You stole 400,000 dollars from me and I'd like it back."
Thompson smirked insolently. "I didn't steal nothing and I ain't on trial for robbery. That money wasn't yours to start with and I see no reason to give it back."
Usher nodded. "I thought you might feel that way but it doesn't matter. You're going to die, Thompson, and it won't be easy. Afterwards I'll hunt down Benedict Carter and Jack Bellows and they'll be happy to give me the truth, with a little persuasion..."
"It won't work. I'm the only one who knows where the money's hid and I'll be taking that secret to the grave pretty soon." Thompson sniggered. "You ain't getting jack shit, Reverend."
Usher took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, reminding himself there was more to this meeting than money.
"I don't really care if it rots in the ground; I can earn it back easily enough. Your execution will make up for every missing dollar and it'll be the longest hanging in history. It might even make the books!"
He forced out a laugh, watching the chained man intently, looking for some kind of fear in his eyes, but there was none. Thompson was looking at him calmly.
"I've been hanged before, Usher. I know what it's like to feel the rope tighten, feel my throat close off and the whole weight of my body dragging down on my neck… I read books about it too, medical books which say a man blacks out after twenty seconds so I ain't scared and you ain't getting the show you need, however much you pay the damned hangman!"
That took Usher by surprise, but he told himself they were only the reckless lies of a desperate man.
"I'm glad you know so much about it, son, it'll be something to think on when you're lying in this cell the night before your execution."
Thompson was scowling from under his fringe now, looking to all intents and purposes like a mad, caged animal.
"If you've got nothing interesting to say I reckon you should go home, read your Bible and jerk off. You got plenty of material now!"
He laughed crudely. "And if you got money to spare, give Billy a little more. Tell him to bring some of those sweet things in the street by my cell for a few hours. A dead man's entitled to a little entertainment before he gets to hell."
Usher had seen the gaggle of women in the street outside the jail, giggling and chattering about the handsome young prisoner and it displeased him greatly. He'd been sorely tempted to stop and deliver a sermon on mortal sin and the perils of misplaced pity, but he couldn't afford to be recognised so he'd simply circled them and continued on his way.
Thompson was still watching him. "You still carry that hipflask with you? How about a little sip for the condemned, huh?"
He tried to move closer to the bars of the cell and once again the chain pulled him back. This time he dropped to his knees and pulled both manacled hands into a crude representation of prayer. When he spoke again it was in parody of a deep south accent, almost like the Negros used.
"Offer me a drink, good padre, in the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit; especially the spirit which I pray might be bourbon and not that pig swill they serve in the bar rooms of purgatory. What do you say, Reverend Usher? You reckon that big barkeep in the sky might grant a dying man his last request for hard liquor?"
Usher was appalled. This prisoner, this debased animal kneeling before him in chains now saw fit to mock God and all his methods.
"You're despicable, Thompson, you deserve everything that's coming to you."
Thompson got slowly to his feet, wearing a nasty smile.
"Guess I'll see you in court then."
He actually puckered his lips and blew a kiss. Usher was reviled.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Thompson."
He turned on his heel and marched back down the passageway. The prisoner's raucous laughter followed him the whole way.
Cort sat on the edge of his bunk and forced out a slow breath, willing his heart to stop beating so hard. He'd gotten a little carried away towards the end of his performance but it had the desired effect. Henry Usher had left looking disgusted and rattled and that was just fine. Cort wanted the judge and everybody working for the prosecution to believe they were dealing with a deranged and deluded criminal, totally incapable of reforming his character. If the only threat he posed to them was physical, if they regarded his trial as a mere formality, some of them might get careless and lazy. It gave him the element of surprise and made their plan a lot easier to put into practice, when the moment came.
He heard footsteps approaching and Billy Reynolds came into view, smiling broadly as he unlocked the door and entered the cell.
"Nice work, Cort. The Reverend there's convinced you're gallows bait and deservedly so."
He removed the manacles and Cort rubbed at his wrists; already sore from the heavy restraints.
"Did he say anything else?"
Billy shrugged. "Only that he's giving some kind of sermon in the church tonight. I guess he finally wants Bisbee to know he's arrived."
"What kind of sermon?"
"He didn't say." Billy was watching him intently. "But I'll be sending one of the boys down to listen. Might even attend myself..."
Cort got the feeling it would somehow reflect Usher's recent experience and it made him nervous. Billy scratched at his beard.
"Don't be getting twitchy on us now, Cort. Nothing he says will have any effect on the men who matter. They all know the truth about him."
Cort nodded but couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Billy grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled him to his feet.
"Come and sit with us in the office. A glass of whisky should settle your nerves."
Cort smiled. "I thought you'd never ask, Billy!"