Yuma

by Calico West

Yuma prison. Every time the name is spoken, contempt is on the tongue. It's hot, it's vile, it's death, and this is how it's described by men that truly belonged there. When two innocent men are sent there, they will find out what Yuma is really like. It's worse.

7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Charlie Webb was not an inexperienced lawyer. Although having his practice in a town the size of Laramie didn't put a lot of credits against his name, he was still qualified to take on the toughest cases his townspeople got themselves into. However, not everyone saw his credentials with the same point of view. To most men that went about their work with polished floors under their feet, Charlie had all the appearances of wearing the shade of green. It didn't help that his courtroom was only temporary, held inside a saloon with a hand painted sign banning whiskey during the proceedings. And the look went a bit farther south, for the whiskey was missing its e. Fortunately Charlie's view of himself in a mirror didn't return the same tenderfoot description. Otherwise he might not have agreed to take on the Slim Sherman and Jess Harper case.

Some said it was hopeless.

The man in the expensive gray suit that had just finished giving the local lawyer an overall inspection with his eyes would agree to that. He cleared his throat as he walked to his chair, a subtle way to garner the necessary attention away from the other suit and tie in the room. Although if he could cast a little more judgment on his fellow man, Charlie Webb likely didn't spend more than a crisp twenty on what he was wearing. His attire? For the top and bottom set, the tie and pressed shirt underneath, he had gladly shelled out a solid hundred and fifty.

As intended, all eyes turned to Gordon Long, the prosecuting attorney, and in one glance, everyone seated in the Stockman's Palace could tell the difference between one of their own and the man who came from out of town.

Letting the tips of his evenly trimmed nails open his briefcase, Long pulled out a stack of legal papers and read the top page through. Twice. It really wasn't necessary to jog his brain like this. Long had memorized his part on the stagecoach all the way from the Denver depot. With every bounce, another piece was inserted into his head and with it came more flair in how it would be delivered.

Again he stole a glance at Charlie Webb and the men he represented.

"A short day," he muttered to himself.

Likely he could run over an entire train with nothing more than his words. But since he wasn't up against a locomotive, but two, seemingly nervous ranch partners, he would have bet every slice of his favorite pie that he was going to win today. But it went deeper than adding another victory in his resume. He was going to enjoy this. By his hands sitting in a partial dip inside his pockets, a crooked smile sitting in his shaven face, black hair glistening with grease, and blue eyes wide with a certain spark, everyone in the room must have known it too.

Every eye was still on him, even when the judge took the center chair. Maybe it was because they knew, or perhaps feared, that it was time for him to perform.

Gavel clunked three times for order, Judge Shaffer gave him a nod. "You may begin, Mr. Long."

"Thank you," he said, standing, but not being satisfied with staying in one position, Long took the short steps to be the second foremost man in the room. "Gentlemen of the jury, Judge Shaffer, I know why you sit in front of me during this solemn occasion. But I would be remiss to not address everyone else here today. Ladies and gentlemen that represent the fine town of Laramie, whether you are here to merely listen to the proceedings or you desire justice in its fullest form, I aim to deliver. Yes, to deliver Jess Harper and Slim Sherman into the hands of this court and to do so, I will prove that they were not just along for a ride atop a stagecoach with a gun in their hands, protecting, defending, surviving. No, I will prove that they were responsible for the deaths of nine good men and the grave injury of another as they willfully plotted this robbery right from the start."

"Dadgum." Voice at his lowest, Jess leaned toward Charlie's ear. "Ain't anybody else gonna talk, or is he gonna order up a pair of ropes all himself?"

"That's his forte," Charlie whispered, not noticing Jess' confused brow. "Long likes to build up his victims before tearing them down."

"I reckon we're already down in the dirt, so what's the point?"

"It's just his way. Shhh. Judge Shaffer's strict on no talking in court."

As if noticing the sudden bird chirp among the hawk's squawk, Judge Shaffer pounded his gavel. "Silence in the court!"

Charlie gave Jess a sideways glance. "See?"

"Mr. Webb," said the judge when Long was in his seat, smiling. "You may have your say."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

Giving his own smile to Judge Shaffer, Charlie stood a mere foot in front of the table where his clients sat. In a way he was shielding them from the pompous flair coming from the prosecutor's chair, but he also didn't need to be the center of attention. Charlie would rather let truth have that most important stance. Before he began he turned his head slightly, eyeing the smug man and gave his best version of a chilling glare. The challenge between the two was accepted the moment Long lost his arrogant grin.

"Judge Shaffer, gentlemen of the jury, and Mr. Long, I know we all understand the significance that is here today. A well-respected company has lost a large sum of money. Several men have sadly lost their lives protecting it, and while they weren't among the buried, that was all Mr. Sherman and Mr. Harper were doing. They were protecting that money, the stagecoaches, the men inside. I'm not going to say they failed. How can anyone, no matter how skilled, come up against unseen murderers and thieves and not have death and scars as a result? They were there, though, gentlemen, the real murderers and thieves. And before we are through here, I guarantee that there will be zero connection between my clients and those that most truly deserve the lowest section of Laramie's boot hill."

Slim's fingers holding a pen, he dipped the ink and then gave his attorney the short note of thanks.

He nodded, appreciating the fact that Slim kept quiet to avoid another of the judge's scolds, but then his head was quick to snap toward the judge. No, he wasn't rebuking the note being passed, his gavel drop was merely signaling the next part of the trial. And unlike what Charlie had expected, Long was returning to his look-at-me position.

"Mr. Long, you may call your first witness."

Anticipation making him rub his palms together, Long turned toward the crowd. "Rogue Ferris, please."

He didn't own a suit, but at the urging of his wife, Rogue Ferris did put a tie around his neck. Nerves more than doing a wild run through his body, Ferris was giving each end a tug as he walked to the witness' chair. Inadvertently allowing it to come loose, it promptly fell into his lap the moment he sat down. But while his fingers scrambled for the necktie, it wouldn't get caught, at least not before the perfect loops of Long's tie were staring him in the eye.

"Mr. Ferris. I understand you own the relay station near Crescent Peak, about sixty miles south of Laramie. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"The evening of the robbery, Jess Harper, along with another Overland worker, Jed Kelly, were brought to your relay station. Is that right?"

"That's right."

"How did Jess Harper act upon arrival?"

Ferris lifted a shoulder. "He was injured, visibly shaken, upset. But even more he was anxious to get back on the trail."

"Why is this?"

"He said it was to look for his friend, Sherman. I encouraged him to stay the night, but he turned me down."

"Did you give him a horse to leave on?"

"Yeah. I let Harper borrow a horse. Like I said, he was anxious to get going."

"Only a guilty man would want to flee into the night."

"He's not guilty!"

"How do you know this, Mr. Ferris? Did Harper tell you straight away that he wasn't guilty of robbery and murder?"

"Well, no, but I know that he's not…"

The pounce perfect, Long landed on Ferris' tongue. "How can you know what Jess Harper is really like? It is my understanding that you had never met the man before the night he showed up on your doorstep."

"I didn't."

"Then how can you declare a man not guilty when you do not know him personally?"

"I…" Stumbling over his answer as well his thoughts, Ferris ended his silence with the shake of his head. "I guess I can't."

"Since we have your relationship status with Harper established as zero, let's go back to where we were a moment ago. You gave Harper one of your horses. There's only one reason why Jess Harper should be so anxious to leave your relay station and join up with Slim Sherman."

Nerves now causing a fidget, Ferris started rubbing the loose ends of his necktie between his thumb and forefinger. "He wasn't running from the law."

"This is your opinion, Mr. Ferris. I want the truth."

"I figured I was telling it."

"Then tell it a bit deeper," urged Long, leaning toward the witness stand, making the beads of sweat run faster down each cheek. "So you said that he was visibly shaken, upset, etcetera. What makes you describe him this way?"

"Well, he was kinda strong mouthed, persistent."

"How so? Did Jess Harper show any sign of violence, agitation, anything to indicate to you that he would threaten you in any way if you resisted his desire to leave?"

Ferris closed his eyes, and the scene of the coffee cup crashing against the wall imprinted over the darkness as if by design. "Yes."

"Did Jess Harper leave your relay station that night in a hurry?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Mr. Ferris. No more questions."

Nodding when the judge said he could step down, Rogue Ferris stood and while he felt the fraying necktie in his hand, he didn't look at it until he returned to his seat in the middle row of the saloon. There he opened his palm and something hard smacked against his chest. Somehow his necktie had turned into the distinct image of a noose.

"Next witness, please."

"I call Sheriff Mort Cory to the witness stand."

He thought he was going to squirm out of his chair where he was seated next to the prisoners. Mort didn't want to know how slick his backside was going to feel once he placed it in the chair next to the judge's desk. Hat in hand to hide the sudden tremble, Mort made the quick shift from right to left so he could place his hand on the Bible and recite his oath.

It was strange when he pulled his palm away from the leather cover. Here he could have placed his two best friends in the capable hands of the Almighty, but Mort had the sick feeling what was holding Slim and Jess' fates. Mort was. His answers could send them home, to prison, or to their graves.

"Sheriff Cory. I understand that you came across the accused, Jess Harper, approximately twenty miles from the Colorado border the morning after the robbery."

Not liking how the prosecutor jumped right to the meat and the potatoes of the event instead of picking at the vegetables that lined the dish like he had done with Ferris, Mort loudly cleared the tightness from his throat. "I did."

"And upon doing so, did you arrest him for robbery and murder?"

"Not for murder."

"But for robbery?"

There went the dreaded squirm, and Mort felt himself slide to the edge of the chair. "Yes."

"And then what did Jess Harper do?"

Falling forward, jumping on the man, he wasn't sure which, Mort changed courses and scooted backward. "He, um, well he…"

"Let me help you out, Sheriff. He was reluctant to be taken in and he resisted your arrest."

"Yes, but that was because…"

"The whys are of your opinion only, Sheriff Cory. You answered the question truthfully, so that will do. So now that we're at the point of Jess Harper refusing to be taken to jail, what happened then?"

"We argued some."

"And who won?"

He looked at Jess, somehow seemingly all alone in the middle of an expectant crowd. "Neither of us."

"How so?"

"We're friends," Mort answered, surprised that he didn't snap louder than he felt. "We don't let things get out of hand."

"Oh, really? Then how did Jess Harper get your gun in his possession if things didn't get out of hand? I have a copy of the written arrest that you wrote, saying that he had your gun when you took him in."

"He was upset. I'd give any man some leniency, friend or not, when he's under a lot of stress."

"All right. I'll give you that. So you weren't expecting Harper to take your gun from your holster, but when he did, what did he do with it?"

Again Mort squirmed front and then back. "He had it in his hand."

"That's not a big enough picture, Sheriff. Tell it all. Tell how he raised the gun, cocked it and pointed it at your chest."

It was a good thing that Mort's backside was in the movement of scooting backward, otherwise he might have leapt to his feet. "He wouldn't have used it!"

"How do you know? Were you feeling his heartbeat?"

"No. But while you're getting so personal, would you like to feel mine?"

"Easy, Sheriff," said Long, giving his hand a wave that would have patted Mort's cheek like a wayward child if it had stretched any closer. "I apologize for striking a nerve. You are friends with Harper. That is an established fact and I understand that it plays a big role in this case. But what hasn't been established yet was how far Harper went with his gun in his hand. So let's get right to that place in time. With your gun in his hand, did Jess Harper threaten you to the point of death?"

Mort's eyes unable to come away from his folded hands, he felt the chill of winter grab him by the soul and shake him until his teeth rattled.

"Answer the question, Sheriff."

The judge. If the pressure had stopped at the measly excuse for a lawyer, Mort might have just let his head sway with a shake, even when the true response would be the opposite. The scrutiny was too strong. And blast the man behind the desk, he was flipping the pages of the Bible with his thumb.

The vow to the Lord sitting against his chest like a heavy stone, Mort sighed, but he couldn't settle for only letting the quiet air pass through his lips. "Yes."

"No more questions, your Honor."

He wasn't dismissed. Webb wanted to question him, but even though Mort answered without hesitation to what kind of characters Slim and Jess possessed, Long was quick to be on his feet, saying this was opinion only, not truth. Judge Shaffer agreeing with a couple of loud pounds on his desk, Mort couldn't offer anything he really wanted to tell the court about what kind of men that Slim and Jess were. Honest, loyal—dare he go into sensitive territory and say that he loved them both like sons? No emotion like that could exist if they were on the wrong side of the law. But he doubted it would have mattered even if he could make his friends shine brighter than a firework on the fourth of July. The damage had already been done.

Chairs creaking as a pair of men returned to their earlier positions, the judge listened to the next name and then with the response mere silence, gave a repeat.

"Jed Kelly!" He shouted, looking over the top of his reading glasses. "Isn't Jed Kelly here today?"

"I am," he answered, movements slowed by the ache that still had a firm grip across his entire head, somehow able to spread down to his boot heels.

Long showing unusual kindness, he put his hand on Kelly's elbow to guide him into the witness' chair. "I'm sorry you had to come up here while you're obviously still recuperating, Mr. Kelly. I'll try to make this as easy on you as possible."

Not knowing what to say to someone he viewed as an over-decorated fleabag, Kelly merely shrugged.

"Mr. Kelly, as the only survivor of both stagecoaches, beyond the two accused, I should say, you must have had great opportunity to witness the robbery."

"No, Sir, I didn't."

"Why is that?"

"I was unconscious. After I was thrown from the stagecoach, I was knocked out. When I was coming to, someone came from behind me and bashed my skull in with a rifle butt."

"Did you see this person?"

"No."

"If you didn't see him, then how do you know it was a rifle?"

"Well," he said, hand rising to feel the dent. "It felt like a rifle."

"Could it have been a stick? A long, stout stick big enough to do the same damage as a rifle butt was found beside the wreckage. There was blood on it."

"I don't know. I didn't see it."

"So you didn't see what actually hit you, neither did you see the man. Could it have been Jess Harper, hoisting that stick high enough over your head that when it dropped, it rendered you unconscious and on the brink of death?"

"No!"

"How do you know, when you said that you didn't see who it was?"

He stared at the blue eyes across from him. They weren't snapping in accusation. There wasn't even a threatening spark to see. While the scene confused him for a moment, Kelly realized he was looking at the face of fear. And by the pain in his stomach becoming worse than his head, Kelly had a bad feeling what he was viewing was about to get worse.

"Well, I just know."

"That's not good enough, Mr. Kelly. You saw no one else there. You heard no one else there. The only living man you saw was Jess Harper. Since his injuries were not as severe as yours, he could have easily walked up from behind you and hit you with the stick that I will remind the court, was found at the scene with blood on it. Now I will ask you again. Could Jess Harper have been the one that hit you in the head?"

"I suppose he could, but he…"

"That's not what I'm looking for, Mr. Kelly. A simple yes or no. Could Jess Harper have been the one that hit you in the head?"

The fearful blue too much to tolerate, Kelly looked down to the folded hands that sat in his lap and the truth made him grip them even tighter. "Yes."

"That'll be all, Mr. Kelly."

"Mr. Kelly," Charlie said, trying to make his voice the exact opposite of how Long had barked. "Can you describe what happened before you were thrown from the stagecoach?"

"I can, very well. The stagecoach was attacked by rifle fire. I'm not sure how many, just that we were hit from both sides. I couldn't see any of them. I doubt any of the other men could, either, but all of us were doing our sworn duty, defending the coach and its cargo with the rapid return of our own guns. That includes Jess Harper. I could hear him firing repeatedly from his place on the top seat. And then he called one of the men from inside, Rusty Corcoran, up there with him."

"Why would he do that?"

"The driver was dead. With the stagecoach out of control, someone needed to hang onto the reins."

"Why wouldn't Jess have just taken up the team?"

"Because he was too busy fighting the ones attacking us. No one is in a better position than the shotgun rider to fend off a group of road agents. That's why he was in that seat in the first place. Jess Harper is more skilled with a rifle than all of us."

"What happened after Harper called Rusty to the top?"

"That's when the stagecoach crashed. I was thrown from the coach and knocked unconscious."

"It's already been stated that you were hit in the head by a rifle or something similar. Was Jess Harper still at the scene of the crash when you woke a second time?"

"Yes. He put a kerchief up to my wound then we talked some of what happened. Then he said he was gonna check on the others. My lights went out then. I didn't know anything further until I woke up at Ferris' place."

"Thank you, Mr. Kelly. That'll be all."

"Just a moment!" Long's hand went up in the air. "I'd like another question with this witness."

Jess' head went down, hopefully his voice would go even lower. "Dadgum. Just when my character was looking prettier to everyone but me, Long has to jump up and holler."

Judge Shaffer offering a single nod his way, the prosecutor retook the position in front of Jed Kelly. "Mr. Kelly, I'm curious to know if in the short span you were conscious if you saw any of your fellow guards, whether they were dead or alive."

He shook his head. "No. I was lying about ten, fifteen yards from where the coach overturned. I couldn't see any of them."

"So you do not know if any of them were still alive when Jess Harper stated that he went to check on them."

"No I don't."

"Therefore you cannot answer what Jess Harper may or may not have done to them when he went to check on them."

"No."

"Thank you. No more questions."

Watching poor Kelly slowly walk back to his seat, Jess leaned toward Slim's ear. "You'd think I'd shot everybody, stuffed all the money in my underwear and strummed a guitar in celebration, all the way to Texas. Alone."

"They haven't forgot about me, Jess."

It was true that some people had excellent hearing. Maybe Gordon Long was one of them.

Putting all the flair he had practiced and then some in both stature and sound, he looked toward the pair of defendants or at least one in particular. "I call Slim Sherman to the stand."

"See, Jess?"

Clopping a crutch beside him, it felt like an hour's walk to the witness' chair. Finally sliding into the seat, Slim pushed a heavy dose of air through his mouth and then turned his head. The judge was tapping his fingers on something. It was too soft to be on the desk's top. Just when Slim was about to make the guess of a stack of papers, the real item was about to cut him like a double-edged sword.

"I see you're hesitant to go under oath, Mr. Sherman."

"Huh?" His head in a spin, Slim's eyes finally made contact with the Bible that was the drumbeat of the judge's fingertips. The way embarrassment sent him aflame, Slim's face must have looked like the devil. "Oh. Right."

"Mr. Sherman, do you swear to tell the whole truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

The judge's head gave a single bob. "Proceed, Mr. Long."

"Thank you, Your Honor. Now, Mr. Sherman, you and Jess Harper are partners, are you not?"

"On our ranch, yes."

A smile flickered across his face. "So, you wouldn't call yourself partners with the man beyond your ranch work?"

"We're partners in everything. We're best friends, like brothers."

Mouth wiped clean, Long gave a single nod. "I see. So if I may use your own description and call you such, does that mean you'd do anything for your brother?"

"I would."

"So that means if Jess Harper came to you with a plan to lift the money off of both stagecoaches, you would, because you'd do anything for your brother. And because you'd do anything for your brother, you did go along with him!"

Now more than Slim's cheeks felt red. Eyes and ears joined in, as did his chest, the way it started heaving. "No!"

"So you wouldn't do anything for him, then."

Frustration puckered his brows. "I would, I mean…"

"Pick one or the other, Mr. Sherman."

"I would do anything for Jess, but not…"

"Thank you, Mr. Sherman. Next question."

Squeezing his hands tight, suddenly Slim had a fist in the air. "But I didn't expound…"

"No need. You answered the question."

"But I didn't!" It swung, far from a strike, but Slim still flung his fist toward the man's ever-flapping jaw. "You answered it for me!"

"Mr. Sherman." Judge Shaffer, sitting like a brewing storm cloud above him made his gavel pound. "No outbursts in my court. From this moment forward you will answer your questions with an even temper or be held in contempt of court."

Swallowing, it was then Slim saw his hands and he put them down. If only he could sit on them, for without the tight ball of each, they were shaking. "Yes, Your Honor. I apologize."

The gavel rapped again, the judge nodded toward the man on his feet. "Mr. Long, you may continue."

"Thank you," he answered, straightening his tie that wasn't even out of shape. "Mr. Sherman. Did you know Jess Harper had past experiences as an outlaw? That he had been in jail before, been a part of a gang, that he had been branded multiple times as a killer, with and without a gun?"

He caught the eyes of his partner and held on. "Yes."

"Yet you still hired him. Why?"

"I thought he needed a new start. And I wanted to give it to him."

"But did he take it? The new start, I mean, not the job. Obviously he was hired on your place almost two years ago."

"He did."

Walking to his briefcase, Long pulled out a folder that seemed too thick to even fit inside. "Then why do I have several incidents here that tell a different story? From as far south as Tumavaca, Mexico, to as far north as the Canadian border, Jess Harper has been in all kinds of trouble. Including keeping sheriff's company in their jail cells. And that isn't just right here in Laramie, either."

"Well." Slim paused to swallow, to think, to pray, but he mostly stopped because he didn't have an answer that would make Jess look innocent. He often teased that his partner's middle name was Trouble. But it went more than a simple tease. Jess was trouble, and while Slim wouldn't have it any other way, how could he tell the judge and jury that? He couldn't so much that it made sense to the listener's ear. But he could try a different route. "Jess is a changed man than when he first rode onto my ranch. Anyone that's ever known him would say the same. Yes, he gets into scrapes. Yes, he loses his temper. But he's still a good man, and in my opinion, the best."

"A best friend, partner and brother would think so," Long said, giving his chin a rub. "But let me ask you this. Has Jess Harper ever turned his temper, or his gun, on you?"

He almost shook his head, but then Slim remembered. How did Long know? Or if it was merely a guess on the prosecutor's part, how did he make such a good one? Knowing that he couldn't lie, Slim's eyes went to the floor, the place that he felt his soul had dropped to. "Yes."

"And since he has done so in the past, there's reason to believe he could do so in the future."

Of all the tobacco stains on the floor, and Slim had to stare at one that was shaped like a six-gun? "I suppose."

"Like threatening you to help him pull off a robbery."

"No! He didn't. And he wouldn't!"

"Since this line of questioning is only raising your ire, Mr. Sherman, let's take it down a notch with this.

Did you tell anyone where the money was being hidden?"

Slim pushed his breath out of his lungs, but as the return draft was just as hot as what he expelled, his voice couldn't have any other tone but the same fiery one. "No."

"I understand that you and Jess Harper built those compartments yourselves."

"We did."

"Considering the strong secrecy surrounding this venture, how do you account for the dummy strongboxes on board that were not even damaged?"

"I don't know."

"Is it because you conspired with a group of men to attack the stagecoach and then pull apart each seat?"

"No!" Slim's hand back out, it slapped against the arm rest of his chair. "I was injured in that wreck!"

"Yes, but not shot. You were not shot, Mr. Sherman. Neither was Jess Harper. Is it because the men that were firing on the stagecoach knew not to hit you? Sure you were hurt, that's to be expected with that kind of crash, but you were not injured anywhere near the point of death. That itself speaks rather loudly as to who the real targets were."

"Jess and I were not involved in any way with the robbery!"

"Considering all the evidence I've brought before you, that is pretty hard to believe."

"What evidence? All you're doing is telling a drummed up story that you're trying to sell to the judge and jury."

"No, Mr. Sherman, these are facts. Facts that you have confirmed yourself. You and Jess Harper were the only ones that knew where the money was located before the morning of the robbery. You knew Jess Harper was of the outlaw breed when you hired him which means the criminal intent was there long before he learned of the type of money going out on those stagecoaches. You and he are now like brothers, and as you quoted, you would do anything for. Harper has threatened you before. He threatened the sheriff. He's a top gun and although it hasn't been pinned to the wall yet, so Mr. Sherman are you. The facts are right in front of this judge and jury and here is the final nail to hammer in. When you were put in charge of redesigning the stagecoach seats, you and Jess Harper plotted to take all of the money for yourselves!"

He forgot the pain in his ankle, forgot everything but wanting to plaster the man to the saloon's floor and Slim's hands did more than wrinkle the fancy attire as he took hold of Long and shook him. "No!"

The gavel was given such a throttle, the wooden desk could have broken into pieces if he gave it another whack. "Sit down, Mr. Sherman. Despite my warning you are in contempt of court. I sentence you to three days of jail and fifteen dollars, both to be paid immediately at the time of this court's conclusion."

How all the red could drain from Slim's face in a single breath through his open mouth, he didn't know. The chill escorting him back to his seat, he looked around at the courtroom, searching for the only one that he cared to see. Unfortunately he had to look past a beaming prosecutor to find him. Jess was also on his feet, being tugged back down by Charlie on one side and Mort on the other. It was in the moment that Long stepped away, presumably done with him that they made the connection.

Shaking his head, Slim mouthed his pain. "I'm sorry."

Jess' blue staring just as strong, he gave his own head a turn. "It's fine."

But it wasn't. And it could quite possibly never be again.

Charlie's head starting to sink, he raised his eyes high enough to make contact with the judge. "No questions, Your Honor."

Willie. Town drunk, barfly, frequent overnight guest of the sheriff's or whatever title he could be called on any given day felt his lashes start to lower. Now that the excitement seemed to be over, maybe he could go back to dozing off. So far he had gotten a pretty nice nap in this afternoon, only getting interrupted when someone raised their voices, or that gavel went to whacking incessantly. He really hadn't intended on being a courtroom attendee. His presence was merely because the happenings were happening in the saloon. But how did that sign read again? No whiskey?

Well, not quite. No whisky.

Either way, the bartender wasn't uncorking any bottles or filling mugs with frothy beer. He sure could go for a taste. Either flavor. Seeing men sweat other than what summertime had to offer always did make him thirsty. And Sherman and Harper were certainly sweating.

Tongue prone to wander, he slid it along both top and bottom lip and then Willie lowered his frame until he was on all fours. It was a good thing he was already short. Pudgy, yes, but shorter than most women. If anyone could take their eyes away from the never ending blah-blah-blah up front, likely they wouldn't even notice his crawl, or just assume a stray dog had wandered in.

Behind the bar he stopped. Drat that gavel pound, making his backbone quiver, for Sheriff Cory was always warning him that someday he just might be facing a judge and jury trial. But not today. That was all for poor Slim and Jess. Head creeping around the bar's side, he watched as Doctor Sweeney took the witness' stand. If he thought some of the earlier conversation was mediocre drivel, then this should take the cake.

Fearful that the doctor's voice would be too quiet to let a cork go pop, Willie eased his backside to the floor and put his head against the side wall that made up the bar. He was right about the conversation going into boredom. Even without whiskey's soothing warmth, he was put to sleep.

The gavel jerking him awake, Willie was grateful that the judge offered more than one pound, drowning out the snort that drifted from his nose. He would have reached for the closest bottle then, but if the repeated smack from Judge Shaffer's hand was the result of a Jess Harper explosion, he would have never forgiven himself for missing some of the action. Offering another peek around the edge, Willie frowned.

No, not Jess Harper, although by the look of him, he was getting hot under the collar. No wonder. That Winslow sounded like he was having a grand time recounting all the reasons why he should have never hired Harper for the job. Sure he knew how to shoot, but he also knew how to rob. The Overland vice president was so animated during his tirade his arms started waving like a windmill. At least the judge had the right tool to settle him down some.

But for Willie, there was only one thing that could settle him down. Whiskey. A whole bottle of it. There was one right above him, shimmering in the lamplight, all golden and beautiful. Just like one of the high-stepper's hair, whatever her name was. Oh well, that didn't matter. He just had to touch it, taste it, become part of it. The whiskey, not the hair.

Hand reaching up, Willie grabbed the bottle. Unfortunately, his greedy fingers would wrap around more than one, and in the pulling, the entire shelf would crash over him and onto the floor.

It wasn't intentional, it just so happened that Willie offered the kind of exclamation point that brought an end of the trial.

At least the back and forth part. There would still be the decision making, and the twelve men with that responsibility on their shoulders solemnly stood. Some would have thought it impossible to not stare at a dripping wet Willie, being escorted out of the saloon by a steaming Sheriff Cory. But for these twelve men, it was impossible to not stare at Slim and Jess. Two men that they knew, some even called friends, and they held these very lives in their hands.

.:.

"I dunno if I can take much more of this waiting."

Slim's hands in just as much of a roll up and down his pant leg to wipe the sweat free as Jess' were, he shook his head. "Me either."

"The length of their deliberation's a good thing," said Charlie, trying to pass the minutes by writing unnecessary words on the sheet in front of him. "It means it's not cut and dry."

"Yeah. But that goes both ways. They ain't sure we're innocent either."

Charlie tried to smile, but it couldn't be formed, for Deputy Wiley was coming into the room. That meant it was time. Giving a glance to his watch, Charlie inwardly cursed as he snapped the lid shut with his thumb. Almost an entire hour. There was no certain answer during that amount. It could go either way. He had given it his best. He knew that Slim and Jess thought the same. They wouldn't have offered him a hearty handshake when Winslow stepped off the stand if they didn't. But that same description could be said for Long. He, too, had given it his best, and had done it louder, with more flair, with more assurance.

Letting his pen go still, Charlie put his hands together. It wasn't too late to pray. Almost, but not too late. Not until the foreman of the jury stood up and had his say. They were filing in now, taking their seats. All that was left was for Judge Shaffer to do the same. And then—Charlie closed his eyes—and then they would all see the trial's true end.

In an even more grueling wait than the hour of deliberation, was the final minute. But it too, had to make its last tick, signaling the end.

Throat cleared, the foreman stood, looking straight at the double sets of intense blue. "We find the defendants, Slim Sherman and Jess Harper…"