“’Fore she blacked out, she said her name’s Alice Sherman. Kidnapped a month back in Ohio. Found her near the port, brought her here. I ain’t got no coin, but there’s a reward on her, I’m sure. You’ll want to tell the sheriff.”
The surgeon’s jaw tightens. “Sherman? You’re sure?”
“Sure enough.” I spit the truth raw. “Give her every stitch and care. That’s all I’m askin’.”
The nurse and doctor study my hands. The black of blood under my nails. The stink of gunpowder rising off me.
“We’ll take it from here,” he says.
Before they take her, I take her hand—brief as a struck match. Her fingers are cold.
“You’ll be home, lamb.”
“And your name, sir?” the nurse asks.
“Ain’t got one.”
I turn to go, but two men are standing in the way.
“Sir,” says one—orderly, maybe. “We need you to come with us.”
I look back. Alice is being wheeled away quick.
Ought to run. Ought to carve freedom out of these boys. But how’s a man pray for a miracle while spilling another man’s blood? No, I think it’s time me and the man upstairs get square.
I go easy, you save her.
Forgive her for what she done for me.
Wipe the slate clean.
Give her the life she deserves.
With a nod, I make peace with it and hold up my hands. “Don’t want no trouble.”
I’ll put up my end of the bargain.
Now God better take care of His.
Once the government’sdogs got their teeth in me, Uncle Sam tipped his hat.“Well, hell. Didn’t even have to chase you far. Federal courthouse is just down the street.”
Thanked me for delivering myself to Galveston. They ain’t need to do much once the local sheriff and the Washington men quit bickering over which one of ’em would have the pleasure of tightening a noose around my neck. Trial or no, I’ve never seen a jury do more than nod toward the gallows.
It ain’t the rope that keeps me awake. It’s Alice. Her hand on my chest, her scent—rosemary soap. Beat the hell out of the fish and brine, filth and shit stinking up this cage by the gulf. Gangs of men in the county jail all snarling at each other like penned dogs, rattling chains and coughing up blood. I miss the way Alice made the world quiet. I don’t know if she’s alive. Part of me don’t even want to, ’cause if the truth’s too dark, it’ll gut me worse than their gallows.
If she’s gone, if hell’s a lie and death is just another trail, maybe when they drop that trapdoor we’ll find each other again. But if she’s alive, well, I’ll die happy knowing it was worth it.
In the morning, it’s, “Eat up, outlaws,” and a guard slops beans into a communal tin pan, with a side of rancid meat and moldy bread. Dine on the floor of a cell with a bent spoon, if I’m lucky. Four of us in a cell. Being the biggest and meanest makes living a little easier, unless someone wants to make a point and Igotta put ’em in his place. Ain’t come to blows with no one here, but I come close.
“On your perch, jailbird. Charity lawyer wants a word.”
Oh, lucky day. Judge saddled me with some penny lawyer don’t give a damn whether I swing. I stretch as the guard opens up my cell, deputy waiting to take me wherever the hell it is we’re going. I step out, holding out my wrists.
“No shackles,” guard says. “Takin’ you to an office down the hall.”
I shrug. Makes no damn difference to me where I go.
“Come on, outlaw,” deputy says and walks on, hand on his iron. Looking at a man like that, with his government gun and uniform all picked out for ’em, makes my mouth sour. Tall, lanky cocksucker, not an ounce of muscle on him. Take that shiny badge away, take the gun, let us settle things like nature intended. Wouldn’t last two minutes with me ’fore I knocked his head clean off his shoulders.
