A/N: Everyone leaves behind something when they pass - property, memories and reputations among other things.


Legacies

"Someone to see you Judge," a female's voice said from beyond a doorway. Nurse Sloan usually didn't take any guff from patients, but the resident in this particular sanitarium bed was both especially grumpy and the former top judge of all of the Oklahoma Territory – Judge Adam Fenton. Former territory, she corrected herself; this hadn't been a territory for two years after being admitted to the union as a state.

Regard of whatever you called it, the land was slowly becoming "civilized" as the folks back East liked to put it. But the judge had been stubborn even when it was a territory, and she was sure he was and would be for the rest of his life. He wasn't going to do her any harm, but the less she interacted with him the calmer she felt.

"I don't want to see anyone," Fenton grumbled before coughing. Getting his wind back, he continued. "I'm done with political favors, and it just burns my hide when someone pretends they're just dropping by to see how I'm doing. Ugh…" he groaned as he shifted slightly in his bed and coughed again. It wasn't as comfortable as the goose bed he had back home, but at least the linens were clean and almost white.

"He insists, sir."

"Unless it's the President, tell him to go away."

"It's a Mr. Jed Cooper."

"Cooper? He's not more important than the President – but I do like him a sight better. Let him in before he scowls you to death," he said as he brightened somewhat. He looked around in a half-hearted attempt to tidy up the area around his bed but the truth of the matter was that it was a lot less cluttered than his old office ever was. He threw up his hands and then adjusted himself a little higher on his pillow.

A tall, slightly graying man walked into the room shortly afterward. His face was weathered and there the makings of wrinkles that could have been made from a smile or at least a frown, but at the moment the visitor was stone-faced. Knowing exactly where to look, Fenton could just make out a faded scar around the man's neck – a reminder of the time and circumstances they had met. The visitor just stood inside the doorway and looked silently at the patient.

"There but for the Grace of God go I – is that what you're thinking, Cooper?" Fenton asked. "Oh, don't deny it – you say more with a squint than most men say with a speech."

"No," Cooper said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of eyeglasses before donning them. "I was squinting because I couldn't see you clearly. Now that I can, I'm thinking I was better off without them." The face broke into a big smile and Fenton laughed before coughing.

"Sorry about that, Your Honor."

"Don't start with that 'Your Honor' claptrap. We agreed years ago to no titles. Besides, I needed that laugh more than any snake oil they can shove down my throat for this damned consumption. I'd rather go quick than just wasting away in some…" he said, pausing for a second "…gilded hospital bed. A man dies quick, he can meet his Maker all the sooner." He saw Cooper reach up and rub the scar on his neck – the man probably didn't even realize he had done so. "You cheated death twice, but I'm afraid he's got me cornered now."

Jed Cooper had been a St. Louis lawman who had moved out West to start ranching. He unknowingly had bought some cattle from a man who had killed their original owner and pretended to be the man. Cooper had been found shortly after by a lynch mob headed by Captain Wilson - who assumed he was guilty of the murder - and together they strung him from a tree, left to die. He was still alive when found, and arrested for the murder. Adam Fenton, the top judge of the Oklahoma Territory, had held him in the squalid Fort Grant jail until his story could be checked out – which was more than the mob had done. Released, he had accepted the job of a Marshal so that he could pursue those that had tried to kill him. Only two of the mob remained at large to this day.

"The doctors might come up with something that will help."

"Help kill me, more likely. Don't get me wrong – we all die. I've sent enough men to the gallows to know that, and seen enough pox, starvation, bushwhacking and gunfights to last a lifetime. In the end you die – if you're famous or rich you just get a better coffin." Fenton let out a sigh. "IF you're really lucky they give you a gold watch. Tell me one dead man that's interested in the time."

Cooper had no response. Fenton had devoted himself to the law so much that it came at the cost of the exclusion of having a family, from whom so many others drew comfort and support. For a man who had seen so many people come through his courts over the years, Cooper reckoned that the man must be pretty lonely.

As if the other man could read his thoughts, Fenton went on. "You did it right, Cooper. God only knows how she does it, but Rachel is there for you when you come home." Rachel Warren had been a victim of lawlessness too, by a man that had raped her and killed her fiancé. When Cooper had showed up in Fenton's prison wagon, they were two of a kind – both consumed with finding those responsible for their own personal hells. The two ended up finding that they cared for each other; love didn't eliminate the drive to discover the perpetrators, but it wedged itself alongside vengeance and blunted its sharp edge.

"I can't imagine how she did it either," Cooper admitted. "In those early days there were so few of us marshals and so much land to cover. I was gone for days, even weeks – and never knew if I was going to make it back home alive."

"You came back alive because you're one of the best there ever was."

"Even the best can get ambushed."

"True enough. But if I had the choice, I'd a been out there on a horse," he said as he gestured toward the window "than on that bench. I think responsibility aged me early – I've know people with no job that lived a lot longer than me. The highest law of the land – even if I had the wisdom of Solomon it wouldn't have been easy."

"The way I figure it, we both had a drive for revenge – me with the people that hung me and you with lawlessness in your territory. You lectured me about wanting revenge, but I wouldn't have taken the job if it didn't help me find Captain Wilson and his men. You wanted them professionally – I wanted them personally."

"That and some streak of stubbornness buried in you. Whatever it was, it kept you alive when you should have died from that ambush in the boarding house. That was the second time you kicked Death out the…the…" Fenton said as he tried to finish the sentence before breaking into a coughing fit. He cleared his throat and went on "…out the door so you could do what you had to do."

"Except that Charlie Blackfoot and Maddow got away. Probably still out there somewhere," Cooper lamented.

"Don't count on it. See that bed across from me?" Cooper turned and looked at the empty bed. "Charlie Blackfoot died in that bed two weeks ago. If it's any consolation, he had consumption too."

"Why didn't you wire me or something?"

"Now Cooper, since when did I ever tell you everything?" Fenton smiled broadly at the joke and Cooper shook his head.

"Never. You always pulled a warrant or some information out of your hat every time I was thinking about calling it quits."

"That's right. A good boss knows how to keep his workers interested in their jobs."

"So what are you holding out on about Maddow?"

Fenton placed his hand over his heart. "Cooper, it's the truth I got nothin' on him. He either made it to Mexico or died trying. My guess is the latter. Tell me the truth – do you still think about finding Maddow after all this time?"

"Yeah – but not every day like it used to be. I have too much other stuff to keep me busy."

"Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'. You got a wife and two kids as your legacy, but me…well I got nothin'."

"Oh no, that's not true at all," Cooper corrected. "We both have our legacies. My kids will carry on after me and Rachel are gone – at least I hope so. But you got something even bigger; you got a whole state."

"This isn't my state, it's…it belongs to the people, I guess."

"You went on and on about how much you hated being the sole top arbiter of what was right and wrong in the territory, and you said you looked forward to when a proper court system with its checks and balances would come after statehood. Do you think people would want to live in a state that was as lawless as the old territory?"

"No, but…"

"That's right. Today the people are celebrating becoming a state…" Cooper said, pausing long enough for some brass band to pass by outside "…because you helped create it."

"Anyone could have done it."

"Did anyone offer to do it? Did anyone jump up to take the position before you were appointed? Did anyone sit on that bench while you took some time off for yourself? No. As hard as you were, you were the right man for the job. It might never have become a state if someone else has blundered into the job. Or worse yet – taken it just to dole out political favors like it was penny candy.

"Well..." Fenton said and gave it some thought. It was a minute or two before he spoke again. "I suppose. When we finally got the seven judicial districts then things improved mightily, but it was lonely at the top. I don't know that I'd recommend being a judge to anyone now."

"Then why did you push me to retire from being a marshal and become one?" Cooper asked with his arms folded in front of him. A hint of a smile appeared on his face.

"I didn't. I felt sorry for Rachel and she was the one that encouraged you. You're smart, a little stubborn, had been a lawman, and you already had some schooling before you came out here to become a rancher." Fenton grinned broadly. "I simply suggested to her that it would be a better job than being a marshal, Your Honor," he said in an exaggerated manner.

"So where does that leave us?"

"You, with a family and your own bench to warm. Me – I guess I got a state. That and two bits will buy me dinner."

"I don't know about dinner, but you can keep your two bits if you'd settle for a drink." Cooper reached into a pocket and pulled out a small silver hip flask. "For medicinal purposes only. That is, if you don't mind taking medical advice from a fellow judge." He extended his arm and Fenton took the offering, downing a drink. He coughed for nearly half a minute and handed it back.

"That was a little rough, but worth it. Thanks, Cooper. Remember – you're only a lower court judge. If someone gives you guff even when you're in the right, have 'em come see me. Oh wait…we didn't make a toast." Cooper offered the flask again but Fenton waved it off. "I'll drink in spirit. To what?" he asked.

The brass band – or another just as noisy – came by again on that November day in 1909. "To legacies and the people who leave them to the next generation," Cooper suggested.

"Here, here. Court adjourned," Fenton said as he closed his eyes. He opened them again and saw Cooper looking worried. "Don't worry – I'll send you a telegram if I feel Death's hand on my shoulder. Now get home and watch out for the revelers." The two men shook hands happily and Cooper left the room.

As he walked through the doorway he saw Nurse Sloan waiting nearby, smiling. "He's not that bad of a patient, is he?" he asked her.

"No, not really – I've had worse. I guess it just takes a special visitor to bring out his human side," she said softly with a grin. "Thanks for seeing him."

"In a way I kind of owe him my life – even when he's in a bad mood." He smiled and put his hat on, tipping it. "Take care, Nurse."

"That's exactly what I do," she replied with a chuckle.

The End


A/N: Not one of his spaghetti westerns, but a tale of revenge with a side order on the role of the law thrown in. Eastwood and Hingle teamed up a few times on film, but this one had a cool harmonica theme to go along with it.

After posting an average of over a story a week, moving to another state and starting a new job and rotational shift and getting ice storms that knocked internet out for over a week has wrecked havoc on my old schedule. Between starting over with gardening, first time chicken raising and the adjustments to living in a new area I haven't been able to write (or even watch movies) nearly as much. It will probably be a lot longer between stories now, which irks me - but life isn't always what you want.