"Legal hangings west of the Mississippi are spectacles. I expect folks to come from 'far and wide' with their picnic baskets of fried chicken and biscuits. The saloon will be the gathering place for drunken cowboys and poker dealers and cheaters. Sadly, Billy, the undertaker, will be taking pictures and selling 'em on postcards for a penny. The festivities are scheduled to begin tomorrow at noon."

"How are we supposed to do it?" I asked as I rocked back in my deputy chair.

"It's a hanging," he said, looking at me.

"I've never done one before," I replied.

"Never?" he asked.

"Never. The sheriff does 'em with Billy. He's our undertaker," I said.

He gave me a full nod of understanding. "You've seen it done?" he asked with quick glance down into his empty cup.

"As a kid. But not since I got my badge."

"Who did you see hanged as a kid?"

"Tom Horn."

He looked surprised.

I gestured with my cup.

"Damn. Tom Horn. That was in Cheyenne," he said.

"I'll never forget it, never," I said. "It was a few days before Thanksgiving."

He stood up and turned around slowly twice as though he was remembering. "Hell, that's right  . . .  it sure was," he said.

"November  . . .  the 20th  . . .  1903," I stammered.

He stopped moving and in a soft questioning voice, "Were you there?"

"I was."

"How old was you?"

I took a sip of my coffee. "10."

"I was 12."

"Ten years and I still have a distaste for hangings," I said sadly.

"Deputy  . . .  it was a sickening day," he said, sitting back down.

"Yeah. I still have bad dreams."

He nodded and then raised an eyebrow. "I get it,  . . . " he paused. "So, deputy, what do you wanna do about our prisoner?"

"I'll let him escape after midnight," I offered as I gently rocked forward and lowered my aging chair legs to the floor.

"And then what?"

"You will hide in the thicket past the livery stable," I said.

"And then?"

"When he rides off on your horse, shoot 'im with your Henry, clean and simple."

"Frontier Justice?" he quipped.

"Justice just the same," I said curtly.

When the prisoner escaped, I told him to ride west out of town. The Livery was east.

Historical conclusion:

Tom Horn was hanged one day shy of his 43rd birthday. He had killed 17 men while in the employ of the Pinkerton detective agency. At the time of his hanging, he was in employ of the Wyoming Cattlemen Association. This was during the dangerous and infamous vigilante war in Johnson County. He was hanged for the accidental death of 14-year-old Willie Nickell. Tom Horn was acquitted of the murder conviction on September 17, 1993, by a Wyoming court.