Wooooow.. sorry about the long wait, guys. I promise the next update won't take this long.

Chapter 30

"Get Jones"

The words were whispered behind her back. Sheriff Jones did not tolerate violence in his town. She remembered the sign she had read right before entering this small village. And she would now meet the man she had only feared meeting because of the criminal she travelled with. She had feared for him, and not herself. Because what would a sheriff want with her anyway? She was a girl. Just a girl. But she had ruined that for herself. She was a violator of a law she had lived by all her life.

The alcohol was sinking in. She felt warm, despite the cold air making its entrance because someone was holding the door open. More people had gathered behind her. She listened to the soft wailing of the young man she had attacked. There had been voices calling for the doctor, and someone had ran out to get him, but when he returned with the message the doctor wasn't in his office, and was nowhere to be found, the young man had to wait. He had been given something to drink, and his friends were with him. She couldn't quite say if she regretted her actions or not. The booze turned her mind into a slurry mess of sounds and images, and she felt like sleeping. Just to put her head down on the smooth countertop and wait till this nightmare had passed. Butch would come get her, and make everything right again, like she had seen him do over and over again. He would come eventually. He wouldn't leave her here, would he?

Would he?

Slowly, the alcohol altered her thoughts of bravery, and turned them into a gnawing feeling of insecurity, and after a while she felt the fear building in the pit of her stomach. How many men were behind her now? She didn't dare to peer over her shoulder. She hadn't done so ever since she broke that bottle. She shivered, but not from cold. More spurs and heavy boots entered the facility. Men talking to eachother in hushed voices. Figuring out what to do with her.

Claymore only returned from the backroom when someone called for him. He came, but didn't answer any questions. Nothing had taken place on his watch, he had purposely made himself useful in the awaiting trial. She wasn't sure this was the kind of protection Butch had envisioned Claymore to give her, but for now, it seemed the big veteran was her only friend. He stood in front of her, peering at the growing group of spectators. She looked up at him briefly, sweat dripping down her forehead.

"How many people are behind me?" she whispered.

He met her eyes after a short silence. "Be everybody now."

After that, she whimpered in fear and looked down at her empty glass. She had downed about four of those. Thinking the liquor gave her strength. She had been so sure of herself moments ago. Why did it change so suddenly? Violent shivers shook her body, and all she heard was her own trembling breathing. When she sheriff entered the saloon, the frantic whispering died down slightly. She wondered what he looked like. Was he a man in a suit like Elton? Did he resemble more of a scrubby outlaw like most lawmen did? He asked questions, and they were answered by various witnesses. His voice sounded old, but not too old. Low and raspy, he was a definite smoker, the tar in his lungs had gradually altered his voice. She half expected him to come up to her. To be the first one she would have to answer to. To perhaps get a chance to explain her side of the story. But he did no such thing. After the two longest minutes of her life, he said one thing out loud.

"Get the reverend."

She frowned in confusion, and looked up at Claymore for help, but he no longer granted her the privilege of eye contact. He was impassive. It took forever for the reverend to arrive, but when he did, the room went deadly quiet. His slow, calculated steps, echoed through the floor boards. He wore spurs, like he was the next cowhand in town. He was in no hurry, and walked like he did this every day, almost bored with the situation already. The sheriff was tapping the nose of his boot on the floor in impatience, he clearly disagreed with the reverend's slow response.

"Took you long enough." He grumbled to the reverend.

"Not everyone's idle on a Friday night, Bill." The reverend's voice was much lighter, but it had a sharp edge to it, like he was a man to be reckoned with. "Pyjama party with the locals?"

"Your old pal's in town." The sheriff spat disrespectfully. "And brought this troublemaker with him. She claims to be part of the Cavendish gang." The reverend said nothing, and so the sheriff continued. "She broke Matthew's jaw with a bottle. Ah've never seen anything like this."

"ah cin never eat normally again!" Matthew's mangled, broken voice made her jump a little. "Look at me!"

"Quiet, Matthew!" The sheriff had enough. "Quit your wailing or I'll break yer neck too!" the young boy said nothing more. "Git rid of her. And the trouble that she took with her. Ahm sure ye know where te find him." there was a short pause. "Father." The sheriff spat crudely.

"You want me to throw out a child in a snowstorm, Bill?" there was no answer. "I'm not about to do such a thing. Besides, I never knew Cavendish to allow women in his gang, let alone children."

"You're telling me you're willing to subject this town to the terror of your old friends?!" The sheriff sounded angry, and snarled his words impatiently. This was a discussion that had taken place between the two men before, and it had driven the sheriff into a state of furious frustration. "Ah will shoot this girl right here, right now if you don't make them leave, Brady! By God I will!"

"I wouldn't make such promises if I were you." The reverend's voice was still calm as water. "You already owe God way too much." The last remark served as a clear warning, given in a calm and calculated manner. The sheriff was quiet, and the next thing she heard were the reverend's slow footsteps approaching her, taking a seat next to her. He sat down, like it was just a normal day, and smiled at Claymore politely. "Coffee, please." He ordered, before turning to look at the girl, who did her best not to look at him. A steaming cup was placed in front of him moments later, and he shoved it toward the shivering young woman.

She peered into the black beverage, the surface so smooth she could see her own reflection in it. The very scent of it made her nauseous, and the gesture made everything all the more confusing. "I don't like coffee." She whispered, still anger in her voice.

"If you're tough enough to drink this." The reverend lectured, fishing her empty shot glass from the bar, and toying with it in his hand. "You're tough enough to drink coffee." He placed the glass back in front of her. "Or are you not so tough after all?"

Feeling challenged, she picked up the warm mug with shivering hands, and took a careful sip. The hot drink fell into her stomach mercilessly. She had no idea what she was trying to proof to this man, but she had already taken it too far not to continue. She downed the whole cup, and placed it back on its saucer with a loud clang. She swallowed the last remaining big gulp that she had saved up in her mouth, feeling her body protest against the very thought of handing this over to her empty stomach as well. When she swallowed, she felt herself turn a sickening shade of green, and the room turned in front of her. But the reverend pretended not to notice her displeasure, and shoved the empty cup toward Claymore, who was still a silent witness to the whole thing.

"Another one, please." The reverend ordered. In horror, she watched the mug being refilled. "A clouded mind cannot speak." He finally explained to her. "I want your head cleared before we continue this circus." The last sentence was spoken so softly, she was sure he was trying to keep the sheriff out of their conversation.

While sipping her second round of strong coffee, she finally decided to peer at the man next to her. Finally made so curious about his appearance she couldn't keep up her act no more. He was a tall, lean man. With dark greying hair that fell to his shoulders in ragged strands, much like Butch's. They were about the same age too, she reckoned. His hands were rough, and heavily veined, like he had done more in his life but study and preach. When he turned his head to meet her curious gaze, she couldn't help but inhale sharply. The other half of his face was a mangled, scarred mess of burn marks. It had affected his eye too. One of them was brown, but the other, on the scarred part, was a pale, milky white. He was half blind, and his injuries had caused him his eyesight.

She quickly averted her gaze, to not seem rude, and felt herself turn a bright shade of red. He chuckled softly at her childish behaviour, and ordered himself a drink as well. When it was put in front of him, he picked up the glass and chucked back its contents in one short haul. For a while it seemed their conversation was over, but then he continued.

"You know it's a dangerous thing to claim to be part of a gang of outlaws." He whispered. "I never met a person who got better from it. It's not telling the truth, for starters. And then there's facing the consequences of actually being treated like you're part of a gang." She realized he didn't believe her. "I'm sure all that wasn't your intention when you spread that lie around, was it?"

"I'm not lying." She argued. "I've been travelling with them for days now. I'm part of his gang as well as any other member."

"Is that so now." He didn't seem convinced. "Then that is your own misfortune. I cannot help you if you keep up this act. I know Cavendish, you're the last one on earth he'd take up in this gang. You don't exactly match the profile." He ordered himself another refill, and chucked back this one as fast as the first. She watched his movements with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

"And I suppose Frank does match the profile?" she dared, raising one eyebrow in disbelief. "Or is Jack Barret more of the profile you're referring to perhaps?" He looked at her, searching for her eyes, and she felt his gaze hit her deepest core. "Cavendish took me with him when railroad sharks burned down my house." She explained, her voice frantic as she fought back tears, brought on by the memories of her father's burning farm. "I've been everywhere. The mountains, Rosa's fort, because I have nowhere else to go. And you dare to tell me I don't match the profile?"

He tilted his head at the girl getting more and more upset. "You met Rosa?"

"Yes, I did." She wiped away her tears roughly, not wanting to cry in front of this man. "She gave me a book when we left. I know the men that are after me found her because of me. And you have no idea how heavy the weight of that guilt feels. And I pray every night that she's okay."

The reverend's face had paled, and his expression had changed into that of a man listening intently. "Who are these men that are after you?" his voice had darkened.

She pursed her lips to calm herself. "I don't know them all by name." she started. "But they're lead by Henry Elton. I think they're mercenaries. Or.. Cavendish thinks they are. Hired by the railroad. They want me, and they want Cavendish. We wouldn't be in this town if he hadn't gotten hurt because of me. We wouldn't be sitting around if it was up to us. But he's.. badly wounded and right now.. we're sitting ducks." The reverend said nothing, and just gazed at her impassively. "So if he's a friend of you, then help us. Help me."

"He's no friend of mine." The reverend replied. "Not anymore, he isn't."

"Then you've sentenced us both to death." She shot back. "Is that what you want?"

The man looked away from her pleading stare, and took to peering at the photo of Butch, Claymore and a bunch of other men, a long time ago. "Where is he?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. He didn't want me to know. Somewhere in town."

"Be the Chinaman's house." Claymore mumbled gruffly. "There where no decent folk will come." The reverend nodded in agreement, and ordered another shot of whiskey to gather his bravery.

"Today, Brady!" The sheriff's sharp tone made her flinch. "She leaves or she hangs! What's it gonna be?!"

She still didn't dare to peer over her shoulder, and instead took to staring pleadingly at the calm reverend sitting beside her. She trembled as she watched him contemplate his next move.

"You're in a lot of trouble." He finally decided on telling her, finishing his drink with incredible speed. "You've come from far to find it and you did. I don't know what on earth compelled you to follow a man like Cavendish but be that as it may.." He sighed deeply. "I'll help you and that old coyote one more time." With that being said, he turned around slowly to face the impatient Sheriff and half of the town's people.

"This young woman wants to confess." He said to the audience behind them.

"Wonderful." The sheriff grumbled, his hands in his sides. "Is she part of that gang or not? Is Cavendish in town? Do I need to call for reinforcements?"

"To God, Jones." The reverend continued. "She wants to confess to God. And not the sheriff. That's her right as a Christian, and you cannot deny her that."

The sheriff almost rolled his eyes. Almost, if he hadn't been surrounded by people that visited the church every day, and laid their faith into this good for nothing priest. Instead he growled softly, and muttered something under his breath. "She aint leavin' this saloon before ah got clarity on her motives. Ah want to know if Cavendish is in town, or not."

The reverend chuckled mockingly. "Come now, Bill. You see gang members everywhere. You cannot possibly believe this child to be part of a gang so vicious as that of Cavendish. I thought you'd be wiser than that." The Sheriff narrowed his eyes at the insult, but decided not to turn the town's folk against himself.

"You get her to confess, and then you rapport back to me immediately. I want to know that girl's story before midnight, Brady. Did ah make myself clear here?" He pointed a warning finger at the holy man, but didn't wait for a reply. He turned to make his leave, and took his deputies with him.

Eleanor said nothing as she watched the men leave. "What happens next?" she asked.

"It's time to confess. Come on." He stood up from his bar stool, and waited for her to get up. He steadied her by placing a hand on her shoulder, leading her through the crowd of spectators that shot her dirty looks. The women, dressed in bonnets in faded colours, shook their heads as she passed. Their hands to their heart, as if the whole situation was just too much for them to comprehend. The reverend lead her out of the saloon, and she breathed in the cold, crisp winter air. The snow had started, and had covered the dusty streets in a thick layer of white fluff in less than two hours. Thick flakes twirled down from the night sky, and she peered up at the grey blanket of cold clouds hovering over the town. They had failed to reach the rest of the gang before the first snow fall. And she wondered if they were together, waiting for their leader to arrive, and perhaps questioning what had happened along the way. She hoped they were alright, and in a better place than she and Butch.

The church was at the end of the town's main street. It was the only building that had been painted white, and it was almost invisible in the snow that surrounded it. A small chapel like she knew so well. They basically all looked the same, no matter where you went. The town's people they had left behind, had followed them out of the saloon. And watched the girl and the reverend make their way down the street, into the church, of which the two heavy wooden doors were closed behind them.

There was nothing inside the chapel. No benches, no altar, not even candles or chandeliers. It was a vacant building that only resembled a church from the outside. She halted by the entrance to take in the strange decoration, or rather lack thereof.

"Pity, really." The reverend started, taking off his black cloak to hang it over her shoulders. She wrapped it around herself immediately, and thanked him quietly. "When this town was build, it was a lovely church. With benches and a beautiful altar."

"What happened?" she asked.

"Thieves." The reverend explained calmly. "They came in here, a few years after the town was build. Took everything. Killed the former reverend too." He looked down at her shocked face. "Atleast it gave us a good idea of what to name the town."

Standing Faith. Because the chapel had no church benches to sit in. The worship took place in a standing position. Despite the sadness of the situation, she let out a breathy chuckle at the simplicity of its solution. She watched the reverend make his way to where the altar had once been, and light the small fireplace. She shivered as the small church started to heat up, and finally felt how tired she really was.

"It's funny really." Brady started, his back still to her as he put more logs on the fire. "Butch's injuries explain why the doctor let poor Matthew the cowhand wait his turn. It's a first come, first serve policy with old doctor Dawson, bless his heart."

She swallowed thickly thinking of Butch's shot wound, almost afraid to tell the reverend it was her fault he got shot. "Cavendish' injuries were quite more severe." She said with a small voice. The reverend didn't respond, and she shifted her weight from one frozen leg to the other, needing him to listen to her. "It was my fault too." She finally said, biting her lip as she felt herself tear up.

The reverend didn't move for a moment, and then slowly peered over his shoulder to look at her. "Did you shoot him?"

Her eyes widened at the very thought of doing such a thing, and she shook her head frantically. "Of course not!" she said, almost offended that the man would think such a thing of her, even though he barely knew her. "No.. I..I got between him and a child. He was going to kill a young boy. And I stopped him, and then the boy shot him instead."

The reverend made a face. "Shot by a child." He chuckled darkly. "He's not going to thank you for that one."

"Then what was I supposed to do?" she asked, exasperated. "Just let him kill a young boy?"

"I don't know what I would have done in such a situation." The reverend confessed, getting up from the wooden floor. "But I know Cavendish went through worse when he was but a boy. Sometimes getting shot isn't the worst fate awaiting a man." She said nothing, and shivered from exhaustion. "I'm going over to see him now." Brady continued. She looked up at him. "I want you to stay here and not open that door for anyone but me."

"I want to come with you." She argued, taking a step in his direction. "I want to see him too. I'm worried about him."

"I'll send him your well-wishes." The reverend said calmly, holding up his hand to stop her. "But you're going to stay here and wait for my return. I know he wanted to be alone with this for a reason, which I do not pretend to understand, but I do know him. It's better for you to stay put and listen to him." defeated, she swallowed thickly, and took a step back. She nursed him back to health before, and she remembered how he tolerated her caring more than once. But his illness had not been caused by her, she reminded herself. It was her fault he got shot. It was her fault they missed their rendezvous with the rest of the gang. It was her fault they were forced to linger in this town, with him set on inactive. Angry with herself, she nodded, and looked away.

The reverend placed his warm hand on her shoulder, and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Get some rest. I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, he turned around to leave. Leaving her behind in the deserted chapel with his heavy cloak around her shivering body. But with the wind howling outside, beating against the wooden structure of the church, she couldn't bear to stay in this building alone by herself. Not with her mind wrecked with worry.

"I'm coming with you!" she cried out, hurrying after him as he stood in the doorway. She was about to get the lecture of a lifetime but she didn't care. "You cannot keep me in here. Claymore couldn't, and neither can you. I'm coming with you. I'll do it without your knowledge if you refuse me, I'll climb up the roof if I have to! I will not be left alone again! Never again!" Tears of panic rolled down her pale face, her cheeks a healthy pink now that she was warming up. "Cavendish will tell you all about how stubborn I can be. I will come after you, I swear I will."

The reverend chuckled at her determination. "I'm sure you will."

"Then let me come with you." she pleaded. "I'm wrecked with worry. I won't rest until I know he's alright. This is all my fault. Give me a chance to make it right."

After a moment of hesitation, the reverend gave in, and nodded. "Alright." He sighed. "This should be an interesting reunion." He already dreaded the moment he had to explain to Cavendish he couldn't keep this child out of his bedroom.

I promise the next chapter will involve more hurt/comfort :) R&R