A/N: Hello, again, lovely readers.

Our awesome beta, SweetThunder, had some real life stuff this time, so Melly and I just did out own thing this chapter.

Yes, Stephenie Meyer still owns the Twilight characters, but WE OWN WESTWARD! He belongs to us and we like to play with him. We hope you will join us in our sandbox.

So now, please enjoy….

Westward

The Marksman

Chapter 13 – Death and Destiny

The sun beat down relentlessly on the uncovered head of the condemned man as he was led from the jail house to the town square where gallows had been hastily constructed.

His face burned and the coppery taste of blood stayed in his mouth from the still seeping wound on his lip. His right eye was partially swollen and his jaw was stiff and bruised. The dark discolorations were partially hidden in the thick growth of beard on his face. Pain shot through his body with every step from his freshly re-cracked ribs. The sheriff and his deputy had done a number on him as soon as James was out of sight, that was for sure.

A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle unfold and the people were unnaturally quiet as all eyes were riveted on the dead man walking. Ward could feel the cold stares from the town's people and hear the rasping of the rope in the hangman's hands. A chill ran unbidden down his spine as he climbed the rickety steps to the platform. He heard the low voice of the local vicar as he read softly from the open Bible in his hands before turning away with a look of pity in his eyes.

At least he could be thankful that Bella wasn't here to see him hang. He was both glad and filled with sorrow that he wouldn't be seeing her beautiful brown eyes again. Would she cry? Would she mourn for him? Her face was the last thought on his mind before the black hood was drawn over his head, blocking his gaze forever.

He felt the noose being lowered roughly over his head and adjusted slightly. He couldn't help hoping that the knot was positioned right so that his neck would be broken instead of just choking him to death. He heard the creaking of the handle and the scraping sound of wood against wood as the trap door swung open. He felt the burning pull as the rope tightened around his throat…

... ...

Ward sat bolt upright on the shaky cot where he had passed out a few hours before. His hand moved to his neck almost expecting to find the rope that had been so vivid in his dream. He gasped in pain as the sudden movement caused his sore ribs to rub together. Too bad the beating he'd taken from the Sheriff and his Deputy hadn't been a dream too, he thought as he gingerly moved his body around and planted his feet on the floor.

He didn't know how long he had been out, but from the almost non-existent shadows on the floor, it was probably around noon. He hadn't seen Jake or James since the verdict had been read that morning but he hoped they had luck finding another witness. He didn't fancy dancing at the end of a rope.

########

"Do you think that was a good move, Jake?" James asked his new-found friend as they stepped out of the telegraph office.

"I promised Jasper I would let him know when anything happened."

"That's all well and good, but this is pretty serious news. What about Izzy? This isn't the kind of news I'd want my woman to hear from a telegram." James said with a worried shake of his head.

"Well, let's just hope she doesn't find out until we have better news to send her. Which brings me to our next problem: We have to find a way to get Ward out of this mess. There has to be another witness willing to talk somewhere in this God-forsaken town."

James nodded in agreement. "At least the Territorial Marshall should be here today. Maybe with his help, Ward will get some justice."

"Unless Newton owns him too," Jake interjected.

James shook his head. "I don't think so or I never would have wired him to come here. I've heard of this man and he's a straight arrow. Honest as the day is long. Billy will let us know as soon as he arrives at the hotel."

"I hope you're right," Jake sighed. "I don't think Bells could stand losing another person in her life."

######

Jake and James had joined forces shortly after Ward had been delivered to Phoenix. As soon as he had been incarcerated in their jail, the Sheriff and his Deputy had made it plain that James was out of his jurisdiction and had forbidden him from any contact with their prisoner. Needless to say, they had refused to let Jake speak to him too.

So, out of necessity, the two had joined forces to see what they could do to clear Ward's name. As they couldn't speak to Ward by conventional means, they had to get inventive. They discovered that the temporary deputy the Sheriff had hired to watch Ward at night tended to sleep on the job, so they were able to talk to Ward through the window to his cell late at night. They discussed a simple breakout, but Ward insisted that he wanted to clear his name once and for all. He intended to settle down in Devil's Fork and didn't want to be constantly looking over his shoulder for the law. That being the case, they had to find a witness.

Ward was the one that suggested they look up the livery boy named Billy. Seems young Billy had helped Ward break out of jail right after the shooting. The kid was amazing. He knew more about what went on in this town than anyone because he knew how to keep his mouth shut and his ears and eyes open. He was the one that had remembered the Indian that had passed through town that day. He claimed the young brave, known as Seth Clearwater, had spoken with him after Ward escaped jail and told him he had seen the whole thing. Ward was telling the truth; it had been self defense. But since Ward had escaped jail, there had been no reason for him to stay in town and tell his story to authorities.

The hard part was finding him. Again, the kid had been an invaluable resource and remembered that the Indian had said he had traveled from the north on his way to visit with the Apache. His sister had met and married an Apache brave when a hunting party had traveled north to hunt on their lands. He had been invited to live with them.

It had taken the better part of a week to travel to the tribal lands, find the young man in question, and for Jake to convince him to return to Phoenix to testify on Ward's behalf. Too bad it had been a useless trip. The judge tended to side with the Newton's attorney that the "Injun" wasn't a reliable witness. Seeing the writing on the wall, James had decided to wire the Marshall. Sure enough, despite Seth Clearwater's testimony, Ward had been found guilty. The hanging was scheduled for high noon on Friday. This was Thursday; something had to be done.

After visiting and reassuring a somewhat despondent Ward that, one way or another, they'd make sure he didn't hang, Jake and James headed off to the local saloon. They had nearly made it to the hotel when they saw young Billy escorting a tall, muscular stranger down the boardwalk toward them. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and sported a shiny gold star on his vest.

James stuck his hand out in greeting. "Marshall, I'm James Dunbar. I sent you the telegram."

The Marshall shook James' hand. "Dunbar. The name's Earp, Wyatt Earp. Good to make your acquaintance."

The Marshall turned and gave Jake the once over, as James made introductions, then gave him a smile and shook his hand too.

"Why don't you boys fill me in on what's going on here." He looked around, noticing that they were starting to draw the curious stares of the locals, and said, "Let's walk."

As the three men, followed closely by young Billy, slowly walked the distance from the hotel to the saloon, James filled the Marshall in on the story. As they approached the swinging doors, James paused and said, "I'm sure you're thirsty after your ride. Let's stop in here for a beer. By the way, it might be helpful if we didn't advertise your occupation, if you get my drift," his eyes fixed on the Marshall's badge.

"From what you've told me, you might be right." The Marshall reached up and unpinned the badge, storing it in his vest pocket.

Billy took up a seat on the edge of the boardwalk after telling James, "I'll keep a lookout." A lookout for what, James wasn't sure, but he gave the boy a grin before the three men turned and entered the establishment.

The barkeep eyed the threesome nervously as they made their way across the room. The men gave the place the once-over, noticing that it was empty save for the saloon girl and a lone cowboy drowning his troubles at the end of the bar. Satisfied that the place was nearly deserted, they moved on over to the bar.

The bartender had refused earlier in the week to serve alcohol to "the Injun", but that didn't bother Jake. He didn't drink anyway, preferring to keep his wits about him when visiting a strange place.

"What'll it be, boys?" the barkeep asked, giving Jake a look that said not you to which Jake just shrugged and took up a chair at a nearby table facing the door.

"Beer," was the reply from both James and the Marshall.

The bartender hastened to fill their order.

"You're 'em friends of Ed Cullen, ain't ye?" a somewhat slurred voice called from the far end of the bar.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" James answered.

"It's gonna be a pleasure to see him swing tomorrow for what he did to my buddy, Mike."

James and the Marshall could tell the young man had been drinking for a while as they stepped a little closer to his end of the bar.

"Maybe he will and maybe he won't," James said, giving the inebriated man a sideways look.

"Oh, he'll hang, for sure. Mr. Newton wants it, and what Mr. Newton wants, Mr. Newton gets, at least in this here town."

James and the Marshall exchanged glances and realized that maybe this man knew more about the shooting than he was telling.

"So you were a friend of Young Newton?" James asked in a friendly manner.

The young man looked at him glumly. "He was my best friend."

James sent a knowing look in the Marshall's direction again before turning his attention back to the young man. "Well, why don't you let me buy you a drink to show my condolences for your loss."

The young man eyed James with blood-shot and somewhat suspicious eyes. "Why would you want to buy me a drink? It's your friend that'll be swinging tomorrow."

James gave him a warm, but totally fake, smile and said, "Well no matter the circumstances, you still lost a friend. I want to buy you a drink."

The young man swayed a little as he tried to size James up before he slumped back against the bar and said, "Much obliged."

James turned to the barkeep, "Another whiskey for my friend…," he turned a questioning eyebrow to the young man.

"Rick. Rick Cassidy."

"For my friend, Rick."

James was silent as they watched the bartender pour the young man's drink and place it on the bar in front of him. James picked up his mug of beer and raised it in a toast, "To young Newton, may he rest in peace." He brought the mug to his lips but took only a slight sip, figuring that remaining sober was the most prudent move in this instance, while the young man downed his drink in one swallow. James motioned to the bartender to re-fill the glass.

"So how long had you been acquainted with young Newton?" James continued with his friendly conversation.

"Ever since I rode into town 'bout three years ago. He got me my first job over on his Pa's spread."

"I thought Mr. Newton owned the General Store?"

"Big Mike Newton owns half this town and a goodly portion of the land round here. His word is pretty much law in these parts."

Again James and the Marshall shared a look. They had already discussed that little fact. "So, it must have been hard on you when he died. Were you there, at the gunfight, I mean?" James asked in a consolatory tone, watching Rick closely.

It seemed as if the liquor had opened the floodgates and the young cowboy couldn't wait to get it off his chest.

"I tried to talk him out of it. I knew that gunslinger had more notches in his gun-belt than Mike had brains, but he wouldn't listen. He said he'd been a practicing and he thought he could take him. Durn fool! I tried to tell him, God knows, I tried." The young man hung his head in sorrow and remorse.

"I'm sure you did all you could. Sometimes people just won't listen no matter what you do," James spoke quietly, encouraging the conversation to continue.

"Mike saw him go down the street from the hotel and waited here in the saloon 'til he came out of his daddy's store. Then he walked out and started flingin' out insults, trying to get Cullen to fight him."

"And that's when he got shot?"

"No. Cullen just eyed Mike down and asked him did he really want to die today. Mike got a little scared, I reckon, and came back in the saloon."

"Then how did the fight happen?"

Rick hung his head a little lower before rising up and downing his drink in one gulp before continuing in a slurred voice. "Mike wouldn't leave well enough alone. He started mumblin' somethin' 'bout not lettin' that worshed up gunslinger make a fool outta him and headed back out the doors. Me and Joe here," he pointed toward the bartender, "we tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen… he wouldn't listen…"

As Rick's voice trailed off, James and Earp turned their heads and leveled their gazes on the bartender, who looked for all the world like a man with something to hide. Before they could find out, Rick began to talk again.

"We followed as far as the doors when we seen Mike start to draw. Ed Cullen had his back to Mike and still out drew him… Durn fool… I tried to tell him…"

Rick's voice dropped to a low mumbling and James figured he was just shy of passing out. He and Earp now turned their attention back to the bartender.

"You got something you want to tell us," Marshall Earp asked slowly as he pulled his badge out of his pocket and pinned it back on his vest.

Joe's eyes got big as saucers as he watched the Marshall's slow movements, then cut to James before moving back to rest on the law man.

"You don't understand, Mr. Newton owns this town and most of the people in it. You try to fight him and you pay a price."

James gave him a look of disgust. "So you figured it was okay for a man to be hanged for murder over somethin' that was self-defense?"

"I just didn't want to get into it with Big Mike. Rick told him what we saw and he made it known that it shore would be a shame for the town saloon to burn to the ground." Joe twisted up his mouth a little at the thought. "The Nugget is all I got, and folks know that Big Mike don't make idle threats."

"So you were threatened into withholding your testimony?" the Marshall asked quietly.

Joe just nodded his head.

Marshall Earp looked at James for a moment before coming to a decision. "This could be trickier than we thought. We're going to have to figure out a way to get that judge to change his mind about his verdict." He turned back to the bartender. "You just sit tight. You agree to give your testimony and I promise you'll be protected. With any luck, we'll be able to turn the tables on this Newton fella."

Joe looked scared but nodded his head. "You best be careful who you talk to in this town. Like I said, half the people are bought and paid for personally by Mr. Newton."

"Thanks for the warning," James said as he and Earp headed back out, closely followed by Jake.

"So what's your plan, Marshall?" Jake asked as they reached the boardwalk.

"The first thing we have to do is get to know as much about Big Mike Newton as we can. When you know enough about a man, you can find a weakness. We just have to find Big Mike Newton's weak spot."

"Maybe I can help." Billy's voice cut between the two men.

The Marshall looked the kid up and down as if just now noticing that he was still hanging around. He gave first Jake and then James a questioning glance.

"Ward says the kid can be mighty handy at times. Seems he knows a lot about what goes on in this town," explained James.

The Marshall took in James' words, nodding slowly and turning to look at the kid with new eyes. "You know a lot about what happens in this town?"

"I reckon I know enough," replied young Billy.

"What can you tell me about the dealings of Big Mike Newton."

"I kin tell ya that he's a fixin' to git hisself elected the next territorial Governor," the youngster told him with a grin.

"Oh, he is, is he?" The Marshall gave James knowing look. "Well, isn't that interesting, Mr. Dunbar."

James just looked at him for a moment before he caught the message behind the look. He nodded as a slow smile tugged at his lips. "That it is, Marshall, that it is."

"I'll just bet our Mr. Newton wouldn't like the voters finding out he tried to have an innocent man hanged for an act of self defense."

James' smile got wider. "I'll bet you're right."

"Kid," the Marshall called to the boy. "Can we trust the local newspaper man?"

Billy gave him a toothy grin and answered, "Burt Brannigan's one of the few people in this here town that Big Mike Newton don't own."

"Then what are we waiting for," James replied. "Let's get to the newspaper office."

"Foller me," the kid called as he was already headed down the street.

It was a little after one in the afternoon when Marshall Earp, James, Jake, and young Billy left the newspaper office. Mr. Brannigan's day was made with the information James and Jacob provided, and hopefully he had enough to give the court of public opinion plenty of fodder against Newton Sr. The Marshall turned to James on the boardwalk, swiping his brow with a clean handkerchief.

"Okay, the next thing I have to do is pay a visit to the local judge. Fill him in on the new witnesses we have."

"Marshall, that might pose a problem," James said as he rubbed his stubbled chin with a wary hand. "You see, it was the Circuit Judge, and he only comes through here once a month."

The Marshall turned and gave James and Jake a serious look. "Then it's your job to track him down and get him back here before noon tomorrow. Do you two think you can do that?"

Young Billy piped up, "I heared the Judge a tellin' the desk clerk at the hotel that he was a headin' for Tuscon."

James shook his head a little before saying, "That's a good five hours of hard riding, not to mention the time it'll take to convince that judge to come back with us."

The Marshall considered the two men thoughtfully for a moment before seeming to come to a conclusion. He looked squarely at James before asking, "You real attached to that Deputy Sheriff job of yours?"

"Well, the opportunity arose, so I took it. Can't say as I've had much time getting accustomed to wearing the shoes though," James drawled out.

"How'd you like to move up a little? Become a Deputy Marshall instead?"

James gave him a crooked grin. "What does it pay?"

"Enough."

"Then I guess I'm your man."

"Good, 'cause it will be a lot easier for a Deputy Marshall to convince that judge to come back to Phoenix than a Deputy Sheriff from a town over two hundred miles away. And a little redskin muscle never hurt anything neither,"

he said looking appreciatively at Jake's stature. Jake simply nodded in acceptance of the slightly backhanded compliment.

They followed the Marshall back to the hotel where he produced a Deputy Marshall badge from his saddlebags and handed it to James.

"You two get going. I'm going to have a friendly chat with the Sheriff and let him know that I have a little more jurisdiction than he does and make sure your friend lives long enough for you to bring that judge to town."

"Willing or not, we'll have him here by noon." Jake assured the Marshall.

"Good luck, men. Your friend's life will depend on your success." The Marshall sent them on their way with a smile and a handshake.

#######

Ward was pulled out of his gloomy thoughts on the situation he found himself in by the commotion and raised voices coming from the outer room.

"I don't care who you are, that man in there is my prisoner, and until I hear differently from the circuit judge, that man will hang at noon tomorrow." Ward cringed at the weaselly sound of the Sheriff's voice.

"And I'm telling you that I'm the territorial Marshall and I've uncovered new evidence proving that your prisoner is innocent." Ward sat up a little straighter as he heard the words spoken by the newcomer.

"Well, until that evidence is presented to the judge and he makes a decision, this hangin' will go on as planned."

"Sheriff, you do realize that you're speaking to the territorial Marshall, don't you?"

"I don't care if you're the territorial Governor, the judge's verdict stands until he says differently."

"You're making a big mistake here, Sheriff."

"No, I think it's you what's made a mistake if you think you can come in here with your fancy badge and tell me how to run my job."

"If you allow an innocent man to hang, then you won't have a job to worry about for very long."

"Well, that's a chance I'll have to take. Now you best get out of my jail before I forget I ever saw that shiny Marshall's badge."

Ward could hear the sound of a pistol hammer being drawn back and then the parting words of the Marshall.

"I'll leave, but you best be sure you keep that prisoner nice and healthy until noon tomorrow."

The Sheriff just snorted before Ward heard the slamming sound of the door.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, Ward was jerked out of his musings by the mealy mouth of the Sheriff.

"Hey, Cullen, whaddaya want for your last meal? I can have the hotel fix you anything you want, as long as its stew." He threw back his head and laughed at what he perceived to be a very funny joke.

Ward just looked at him with smoldering hatred and didn't answer.

"I hope you ain't pinning your hopes on what that Marshall said yesterday. There's no way that judge is going to change his mind, not if Big Mike Newton has anything to say about it." The snicker died in his throat as he continued to look into the cold, unwavering eyes of the condemned gunslinger. The Sheriff couldn't help the involuntary shiver that ran down his spine before he turned on his heel and left the room.

The sun was nearly at it's high point when Ward was led from his cell, hands shackled in front of him. The Sheriff threw a sideways look at Ward's untouched dinner before prodding him none too gently in the back with the barrel of his gun.

You would never be able to tell from his demeanor, but Ward felt as if he had walked this walk before as he remembered his vivid dream. As he walked, he couldn't help thinking that apparently the evidence that the Marshall had been counting on hadn't come through. He couldn't help thinking of Bella and how he was going to break his promise to her. He wouldn't be making it back. He'd never be there to make her his wife, be a father to her children, help her run the ranch. All those thing were lost to him.

As he approached the gallows, he wondered how she would take the news. She had lost so much already in her young life. How many tears would she shed over him? Would she stay in Devil's Fork and try to make a go of the ranch by herself? Would she find someone else to replace him? As much as it killed him to think of her with another man, he knew he didn't want her to be alone. He wanted her to live a long and happy life. More than anything, he wanted Bella to be happy.

As he climbed the steps to the platform, he was again struck by the similarity to his dream, even down to the local vicar reading from the Bible. The only difference seemed to be the absence of the hood. They placed nothing over his head save the noose. He hoped the drop was long enough to just break his neck and get it over with. He'd seen one too many a man kickin' and fightin' for ten minutes and longer. As the hangman bound his legs together he threw up one more silent prayer to the sky that he might be spared from his fate. When the final knot in the binding was tied, there was no more time to ask anything as the man moved to the side and placed his hand on the trap door lever.

Ward blocked out the sea of nameless faces save one. He set his stony stare on Mike Newton Sr. and never let his gaze falter, willing the man to feel the guilt of his death before mentally preparing himself for what was to come. The scraping of the trap door and the pounding of his heart thundering in his ears drowned out any other sounds that might have been heard.

Then he felt himself falling...

*Unnamed Cave, undisclosed location, Belly and Melly are snickering and dancing around a small campfire*

Belly: Pssst, Melly

Melly: Yes, Belly…

Belly: How long do you think we'll have to hide out in this cave? Do we have enough provisions to last a week?

Melly: I think we've got enough to last a week. Besides that should be plenty of time. I'm feeling inspired and will endeavor to write Ward out of this predicament in which he finds himself.

Belly: Cause you're awesome that way, and you know you won't be able to sleep until this whole thing is cleaned up. Sorry to leave you with such a cliffy.

Melly: Well the cliffy is totally all my fault. I think the readers would've liked your ending better, but I was feeling in a particularly wicked mood...

Belly: But I did get him all scruffed up again so you could practice your mad nursing skills.

Melly: I like the idea of cleaning Ward up, so with that thought on the brain...

Belly & Melly: * sigh *