Adam Wallace drank his coffee, listening to the heifers in the cattle pasture in the distance with their little bells clanging with each rock and nod of their hornless heads. Men who survived war long enough eventually desired peace and Adam Wallace wanted nothing more than to hear the cows that morning, every morning, for the rest of his life. He kept a Colt on his hip, mere decoration at this point in his life, but at a time it was just one of the many tools of his former trade. Those days were gone.

"Morning deputy," she called out to him from the bedroom window. He turned and smiled when he saw her smiling face.

"Morn'n," Adam said, staring at her in the first light of the day. He sipped again from the metal cup.

"Why are you staring at me?" She asked.

"There's nothing better to look at," he said.

"There's a beautiful sunrise right over there," she said, pointing over his shoulder toward the slowly widening pink stain in the vast dark sky.

"My bride's superior," he said and all she could do was smile, let him gaze a little longer, before she walked out of frame towards the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Adam always woke before the sun broke over the horizon. It had been ingrained in him as a boy working on a dairy farm and even after leaving home, soldiering, and settling down in the flat grasslands, he never could break the habit. Waking early, he enjoyed it. There was a cold silence in the world. A peace. Something he saw as his responsibility to maintain as the day grew long and hot and whatever loomed just beyond all horizons made itself known.

And Christ said, Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God.

Adam pontificated on Christ's beatitudes throughout the moments of the day which allowed for free thought. Free thought, perhaps, was what grew best out in Green Valley. Better than the short corn or the black beans. Wheat took easy, but Adam's orchards struggled, only sixteen trees made their way past the sapling stage, but still two years too young to harvest any fruit. A farmer he was not.

She came out onto the front porch with two plates and forks, eggs steaming and weeping still on the flecked metal.

"Thank you," he said.

"Of course," she said, sitting beside him in a rocker that creaked when she leaned back and the floorboards under the chair sang out in reply.

"Hanging's today?" She asked.

He nodded in response. He wouldn't speak ill of the situation. Wasn't his place to, so he spoke nothing of it.

The Carlson boy had done wrong. Would admit that himself, but had he not been so lucky that night, he certainly would have been killed by both Riley brothers. One's gun flat out didn't fire when he pressed it into the boy's back. Probably stole it off of some departed, but that's what gave Timothy Carlson some chance. He pulled his own, fired twice. Second Riley brother, Sampson, charged out, probably knowing what his brother thought of doing, and saw his brother on the ground either bleeding out or already dead. Sampson unsheathed that Bowie sword he carried on him and made every effort to kill Timothy. Now, what choice did Timothy have? Was he supposed to let the second Riley brother kill him? Gun versus knife that night.

Judge Waldrep, now, he's good friends with the entire Riley family and it didn't make anything better when Timothy Carlson sheathed the large knife into Sampson's chest after shooting him dead. That's probably what did it, but folks forget what surviving feels like. After making out with your life in a situation where you probably were close to death, you do things that will be a lifelong riddle. Not every time, but Adam had seen enough to know the boy was scared for his life in the moment and then soon after.

"I made him some food," she said.

"He probably can't eat nothing," Adam said.

"I know," she said. "People cooking for him means people love him, that's comforting in itself."

"Sure is," Adam said. "I'm probably heading out soon anyway."

"Okay," she said. "It's on the table. Are you going to read to him?"

"Yes," Adam said. He didn't look half as educated as he was, but his family's money had afforded some of the best education and tutors in the area. Adam took to learning just fine, but he didn't take to a life indoors, a life where risk taking and adventuring weren't part of a daily way. This, of course, was Adam's outlook when he was young. Now, older, he looks upon the decisions in his life as miraculous where every turn, ignorance and foolishness guided him all the way to a decent life.

"His mother sent in a letter," she said.

"I've got it with me," he said, patting his breast pocket.

"Did you read it?" She asked and he barely shook his head. She kissed him before he left and she was his constant reminder of good in the world. For some, that was God, religion, faith, but for Adam it was the love from the best woman he ever met.

Walking into the sheriff's office that morning was a quiet affair. No use in waking up Bruce the guard hound that was just about as useless as the last jail cell lock. It hadn't worked in years, so they used it mainly for storage, rather than storing criminals. Bruce snores were only drowned out by Deputy Bernard's own snores. The two laid together, cuddled on the long bench as though married. Deputy Bernard worked night duty, but his main responsibility was going to wake the Sheriff or Adam if something went wrong. The Sheriff reluctantly let him carry a gun, but the hope was he never had to fire it or even pull it from the holster.

Adam walked to the back room where all the four cells were and only two were occupied, one soul in the front cell on the left and one in the right. When Adam walked in, he saw Ulysses Miller sitting up already on his cot waiting for someone to come in.

"Mr. Miller," Adam said.

"Morning, deputy," Ulysses said.

"Is Mr. Carlson awake?"

"He is," Ulysses said.

"Mr. Carlson," Adam said. The boy did not move. "There's a letter here from your mother. I can read it to you, if you'd like."

"No," the boy said, still facing the wall.

"I've also brought a meal made by my wife," Adam said. "Might not do much good, but a decent thing would be to try to eat it. It would certainly mean something to her and I can vouch for the biscuits and preserves. There's even a pastry. I was tempted to take that myself, but somehow she would know."

"Do I deserve such kindness?" Timothy asked.

"That's for you to determine, but my bride seems to think so," the boy rolled over and evaluated the gift, a parting gift as he saw it before he left the world behind. Ulysses Miller stood up and leaned against his own bars, studying the gift for himself.

"If you ain't gonna eat it," he started.

"Sit down, Mr. Miller," Adam said. "Thou shalt not covet."

"A man's wife and breakfast are not the same, Deputy Wallace," Ulysses said.

Adam did nothing and said nothing, but the silence was enough for Ulysses to reconsider his remark.

"Sorry, sir," Ulysses said and Adam nodded and turned around, happy to see that Timothy Carlson was unrolling the bag of food and pulling out each individually wrapped piece of food, placing it on his cot's moldy blanket.

"Here," he said, picking up the pastry wrapped in paper. "Give that to him."

Adam reached out and handed it to Ulysses who took the pastry, unwrapped it and ate it in two bites. He spent considerable time finding any morsel or crumb in the paper wrapper and then on the dirt floor.

"Thank you, sir," Ulysses said.

"Thank Mr. Carlson," Adam said.

"Thank you, Timothy," Ulysses said. "And thank Mrs. Wallace for me, too, sir."

"I will," Adam said. He pulled out the letter and left it on the metal slot.

"Can you read it yourself?" Adam asked. Timothy looked over, licking the preserves off his fingers and rubbing the ruby colored delight on his gums and teeth before shaking his head.

"No need to," he said.

"Everybody has a mother," Adam said. "Perhaps she can give you some parting comfort."

"Comfort? No sir."

"I wish I had a final letter from my own," Ulysses said. "She passed when I was twelve."

"How'd she die, Mr. Miller?" Adam asked

"Infection of some sort giving birth to a sibling that died days after being born," Ulysses said and he sighed deeply. "Am I getting taken today?"

"I believe it will be tomorrow, Mr. Miller," Adam said.

"And then I am to hang the day after?"

"Unless the judge has changed his mind," Adam said.

"Two men set to die, one after the other," Ulysses said. "Maybe we'll see each other in God's eternal glory. Bump into each other on them golden streets. Can't wait to see them."

"Perhaps I'll ask you to drop water on my tongue for relief," Timothy said.

"You watch your mouth," Adam said.

"I'm only quoting the scriptures," Timothy responded.

"You're doing so in mocking fashion," Adam responded. "That will not be tolerated in my jail."

"I am not repenting for my sins, Deputy Wallace," Timothy said. "According to the scriptures, I'm doomed eternally. Hellfire and gnashing of teeth."

"You've read your Bible?" Adam asked.

"He quotes it better than the reverend," Ulysses added.

"Of course," Timothy answered.

"And you reject Christ's mercy?"

"I simply believe I am undeserving," Timothy said.

"We all are," Adam answered. "Only choice is to take it or reject it, but I can't have no sympathy for a man knowledgeable on the scriptures willingly rejecting Christ. Just foolish."

"Did you read the scriptures before or after you became a deputy?" Timothy asked.

"Raised as a boy to read them and believe them, but I took it seriously towards the end of my time as a soldier and I read them everyday now," Adam said.

"Yes," Timothy said. "You took God's word seriously after you killed all those savages."

"Timothy! Don't!" Ulysses shouted. "He don't know what he's saying, sir. He's losing his mind on account of him losing his life at noon today. Hold off on his beating, sir. He's getting what's coming to him soon enough."

"There's a difference between murder and war," Adam said.

"I think they are merely different forks in the same stream," Timothy said. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, deputy. I am curious, however, what the difference is between you and me. Between you and Mr. Miller, even. You've taken more lives. We know what battles you fought in."

"I'm sure this thought feels rather intelligent, but I can assure you it is the most common inquiry of every man I've stood over in your position," Adam answered. "It's as predictable as the sun rising in the east. The simple answer, and the one you already know is, I was conscripted to do so. Wore a uniform. Sworn in. Did my duty for my country. You, however, embarked on a night of drinking, accused of cheating at the—"

"I ain't no cheat!" Timothy said, spitting.

"—at the poker table and then once you heard the Riley brothers remarking on some prostitute, you embarked upon the journey that brought you here behind this very cell door."

"Every life you took was merely service? You didn't enjoy it?" Timothy asked.

"Only barbarians and heathens would enjoy such depravity," Adam answered.

"I know you enjoyed it," Timothy said. "You did it for so long."

"You know nothing," Adam said.

Timothy sat silently on his wooden cot and glared at Adam.

"Now, the reverend is going to make his way down here and sit with you until time comes to take you outside," Adam said. "You best remember your manners. He's a man of God and I will not tolerate any amount of disrespect towards a man in his position."

"You need not worry about me, deputy," Timothy said with a long sigh. "Forgive my loose tongue. Your wife's cooking was of such fine quality that it made me want to live past noon for a chance to eat some more."

"I will pass along your compliments, be them sincere," Adam said.

"Most sincere," Timothy answered. The deputy turned to go but Timothy called out to him one final time.

"Sir," Timothy said. "Could you read my letter? Determine if there's any part of it I need to hear?"

"You're the only one who could determine that," Adam answered. Timothy got up, picked up the letter and held out for the deputy.

"No," Timothy said. "My mother did her best, but she revealed to me that having a child only ruined her life and it was the single greatest regret she carried. Reminded me of it nearly every day."

"I see," Adam said, taking the letter from him.

"She was also the prostitute the Riley brothers were boldly discussing that night," Timothy said. "The whore in Hagerstown. That's what they kept saying. It's a ranch town with very few ranches left and only one whore remaining."

Adam looked upon the young man, rueful as he was youthful, and all he could do was nod in consolation.

"Did the brothers Riley know the woman they spoke about could have been your mother?"

"I resemble her," he said. "You'd know it, too, if you saw her. They also spoke of her port wine stain on her thigh. A mark she's had since birth. It was my mother. They knew it. They enjoyed the discomfort it caused me."

"And Judge Waldrep knew of their comments?"

"Murder's murder, even if he did know, deputy," Timothy said. "Could you do me one kindness and say if there's anything in that letter that I need to hear?"

The deputy opened the letter. He unfolded the paper as he made his way into the guard's chair, next to the burning candle and read in silence. The script was small and she left very little space, filling up nearly all corners with words.

"Well? Any comfort? Or just cruelty?" Timothy asked.

"Much of it, she quotes the scriptures," Adam said. "Would you like to hear that?"

"No, sir," Timothy answered and the deputy read on. "She pleads for your salvation. She must have known of your theological stance, yes?"

"I suppose," Timothy answered again. "But anything from her, deputy? Any loving words or—"

"My son, I only pray for your salvation so that I may follow you into eternity and we meet again. I was not much of a mother to you. That is my greatest shame. Please forgive me, my sweet boy. Forgive me and place your trust in Christ."

The deputy looked up from the letter and saw Ulysses wiping tears from his face as Timothy lay stiff as a board on the cot. With nothing else to say, the deputy began to fold it up, planning on placing it back on the slot, but he predicted the doomed man's response.

"Burn it," Timothy said.

"Oh, now!" Ulysses yelled in protest, but the boy did not relent.

"Burn it, please, deputy," he said, rolling slightly on his side to view the parchment shrivel and blacken in the flame.

Deputy Adam Wallace heard the front door swing open and the Reverend talking with someone in the front office.

"That'll be the Reverend," Adam said to Timothy. "Best behavior now. Consider what your mother said?"

Timothy nodded, though he looked unconvinced. "Figured I'd swing one day. Just didn't know it'd be this quick is all. If she comes, tell her I was grateful for her words."

"I will. I will do that. You'll have your chance to speak, too. Right before."

"Not sure I'll be able," Timothy said, and for the first time Adam heard that childlike voice of his waver. The truth was setting in on the boy, like it eventually did on every man in his particular predicament. Death waits on no one.

"Good luck, son," Adam said. "I'll come to retrieve you when the time comes."

"Yes, sir," Timothy said. "Thank you, sir."

Adam nodded and left. He came out to the front office where Bruce now slept on the floor at Sheriff Robert Cunningham's crossed boots and the Reverend stood waiting. They exchanged a "morning" greeting as Adam settled down in one of the chairs.

"He's in the back," Adam said. "Primed for conversion if you ask me."

"Praise God," the Reverend said, looking slightly nervous but he made his way back towards the jail cell. He wore a dirty black suit. Same one he wore when he did weddings. Same one he wore on Sundays. Might be the only clothes he owns.

"His mother wrote," the deputy called out. "She would like for him to put his faith in Christ."

After the door closed behind the reverend, the Sheriff turned to his deputy.

"That true?"

"It's better than what the letter actually said."

"Which is?"

"Hanging you's good for the world," Adam quoted from the letter.

"God," the Sheriff said, shaking his head. "How could a mother say such a thing to her own child."

"Felt like hanging her, too," Adam said. "That would be true justice."

They sat in silent agreement before the Sheriff spoke again.

"The men ain't coming for Mr. Miller tomorrow," he said.

"He get a stay?" Adam asked, but the Sheriff shook his head.

"We hanging him here?"

"Can't do that," the Sheriff said. "I need you to ride out with him. Take the jail wagon. It's a day's ride out and a day's ride back. I'll pay for your stay at one of the hotels overnight."

"Just me?" Adam asked.

"I'm not for that. I say take Bernard with you. I'd go, too, but that would leave the town lawless and unprotected."

"What's he going to do?"

"Two's better than one," the Sheriff said. "Plus, it'll be good for him. Get some wagon experience. I wouldn't ask you if I thought it was overly dangerous."

"I wasn't aware I was being asked," Adam said with a smile that made the Sheriff's mustache squirm slightly. "But it's no matter. I doubt Ulysses will put up much of a fight."

"No, I don't see that he would," the Sheriff agreed. "It'll be good to be rid of it. I don't like having the jail cells occupied and occupied by men waiting for the most severe punishments. I'd like to get back to some normalcy around here."

"Sometimes I wonder if death is that much of a punishment as it is compassion for the community no longer having to put up with them. It's not really for them. It's for everybody else."

"You question the hangings?"

"No, sir," Adam said. "Taking a man's life, that's something I've partook in. War is an agreement. Civil, in a way. You take mine or I take yours, but one of us is departing by the end of it all. Taking a man to slaughter. That's different."

"You know Mr. Miller's crimes?"

"I do," Adam said.

"Which of them is not deserving of his punishment?"

"Can't speak to that," Adam said.

"Nothing to say," the Sheriff said. "Killed two lawmen who were pursuing him after he killed another man in cold blood. What can you do with a man that has no regard for good in the world?"

"I'd like to know which action best represents the man," Adam said. "Is it the Ulysses that killed a man in a field without reason? Is it the Ulysses that killed those two lawmen in fear of his own life? Or is it the Ulysses that we've grown to know the past few days here in our jail cell?"

"That is the man," the Sheriff said. "All of it. He weeps at night, praying for forgiveness, knowing what he done is evil and wrong."

"Does he give an explanation?"

"How does one explain his own nature?"

"You think he might be done doing evil then," Adam said. "If it makes him feel so bad."

"That's what the rope makes sure of," the Sheriff said. "This job's a hard one, but it's right for men like us. We see these men come in and we know that could have been us. We chose different. Heck, we might have been better robbers and murderers than they are. But we chose the better path. Perhaps we were always on the better path. We've got more in common with the men that hang than the people we protect, but that's better than not. I ain't gonna be Sheriff forever and I'd like to retire knowing I'm leaving it to a man that can handle the responsibility."

"Yes, sir," Adam said.

"Alright, well, take a walk, inspect the rope, do your rounds," the Sheriff said. "Get some fresh air in your lungs and after the hanging, you can spend the afternoon with your wife, since you're heading out and all."

"You don't need me for—"

"Naw," Sheriff Cunningham said.

Adam didn't know whether to take the offer as a punishment or reward, but he knew his wife would like him home, especially if he would be gone for the next two days.

Before Timothy Carlson hung in front of a crowd of around a dozen souls, not counting the two deputies, the sheriff, and the mayor, the young man apologized for what he did. His brief apology was not heard by any Riley kin, as they were not in attendance. The floor fell out and the rope snapped him clean. Deputy Bernard helped pull the body down and Adam walked home, glad that his wife was not one of the onlookers. She didn't ever go to hangings after watching her daddy's.

They made the most of their afternoon, their love heightened by the fact that he would be gone for two days. She still was naked under a sheet when he rolled out and dressed.

"What kind of man is he?" She asked worriedly. "The one you're taking tomorrow?"

"The kind of man deserving of being hung," Adam said.

"Will you tell me what he's done?"

"I will not."

"Does he pose a threat? More than normal, I mean."

"I don't think so," he said. "Mr. Miller is quick to talk about Christ's forgiveness now and prays for his forgiveness for what he's done every night."

"How does he work that out?" She asked. "Getting caught up in no-good and then crying out to God at night."

"That's just the nature of a guilty man with a conscience."

"You said he liked the pastry?"

"He did indeed."

"I'll make a batch for all of you."

"I'm not sure if a basketful of baking will encourage him to be on his best behavior or reinvigorate his will to live, survive at all costs."

"Don't joke about such things," she said. "Makes me want to poison his."

"It would be cruel to kill a man on the way to his death," he said.

"Not kill him," she said. "But just make his stomach panic. I know the leaves that can do it. It would subdue him into the fetal position."

"It would also make cleaning out the jail wagon quite the job," he said. "No, I think Mr. Miller will go as peacefully as they come."

"You believe his conversion real?"

"I do," Adam said. "I've been fooled before, but Mr. Miller apparently stood alongside the Reverend today as they convinced Mr. Carlson of his need. They sang hymns in the jail together before I came and got him."

"I hope he chooses to do good things leading up to his death," she says. "I don't like thinking about you having to get mean."

"Oh," Adam said, cracking a smile and wrangling her small frame in his arms with ease. "I think you do sometimes."

"Stop," she said, smiling now, too. "Just be careful tomorrow."

"I will," he said. She got out of bed slowly, knowing he was watching her move across the room and picking up her dress. "I suppose I need to get started on making three lunches for tomorrow. I'll throw in some biscuits and preserves tomorrow morning before you head out."

"And pastries?" Adam asked.

"Three," she said, nodding.

Adam spent the afternoon attending to some chores around their property and inspecting the budding orchard trees, hoping that they would avoid any kind of bug or fungus that would halt their growth. That evening, after supper, he read by candlelight long after his wife fell asleep, her light snores and her warmth in their bed kept him company. He slept lightly, dreamless, only flashes of light before he woke. When he woke the sun had not broken yet, but he could hear the earliest songbirds begin to sing. He made coffee, a luxury he developed a habit for in the war, and went out to the front porch drinking as the sun broke over the horizon.

As she finished making breakfast over the stove and the smell of her biscuits came through, he stood and stretched. In the morning light, he checked his Colt was clean and then went back into his bedroom and shouldered his repeating rifle and a scatter gun. He figured Deputy Bernard would want a gun across his lap if he saw Adam with a rifle slung over his shoulder. When he was ready to leave, his wife kissed him as passionately as they did after exchanging their vows.

"I'll be home tomorrow," he said. "Thank you for all of this. It smells so good, I'm tempted to eat it all myself."

"See that you don't," she said, patting the small yet noticeable potbelly he had earned in the six years since becoming a deputy. "Be safe."

"Always," he said. They kissed a final time and he held her gaze, one that reminded them both of their deep affection for each other and although it was not spoken, their love was exchanged, a shared regard between souls.

Adam saddled his horse, Theseus, a liver chestnut Hanoverian, and rode into town where Deputy Bernard was sitting on the front porch of the Sheriff's Office, Bruce resting his drooling, dense head on Bernard's thigh. They exchanged greetings.

"Rosemary and the wagon are all ready," he said. "They're around back."

"Good," Adam said. "Have you eaten yet?"

"I rarely have breakfast," Bernard said, standing up and looking hopeful.

"Is that a practice?" He asked.

"I forget," he said before he opened the paper wrapper revealing a buttered biscuit slathered with strawberry preserves. His eyes rolled in pleasure in between bites as Bruce whined and begged.

"Once we get Mr. Miller loaded in, I've got one for him, too," Adam said. "Is he up?"

"Mr. Miller?" Bernard said, nodding, between bites. "I doubt he slept much last night."

Adam walked Theseus to the back and he sniffed Rosemary, a sturdy, all black Belgian Draft already strapped to the jail wagon.

"I'll go get him," Adam said. You keep your gun aimed on him as I load him in, alright?"

"Yes, sir," Bernard said, attempting, but failing to conceal his nerves.

"It'll be alright," Adam said. "I doubt Mr. Miller will want to be any trouble for us."

"You're right about that," Ulysses called out from the jail cell window. "Please don't let Deputy Bernard shoot me!"

"Don't give him any reason," Adam said and he winked at Bernard.

Adam unlocked the steel jail door in the back and threw a pair of shackles and handcuffs over his shoulders. Ulysses Miller was already standing with his wrists out through the slot, waiting for the handcuffs.

"Mornin', deputy," Ulysses said. "How'd everything go yesterday?"

"As good as it could," Adam said, standing at the cell door.

"Did he cry?"

"Not before I put the hood on."

"Good," Ulysses said. "Reverend and I prayed for him and he accepted Christ right then and there before you came in."

"Reverend Black told me," Adam said. "Said you were quite helpful."

"I don't know," Ulysses said. "Just got to see God's work is all."

"That's right," Adam said. "Now, after I put these on your wrists I want you to go over to that far wall and kneel like you're praying. Face the wall and I'll put these on your ankles."

"Not too tight?"

"These are the most comfortable ones we've got," Adam said.

"My wife made some breakfast for you," Adam said. "A lunch too, along with one of those pastries you like. You will be able to get it as long as you maintain good behavior today, alright?"

"Yes, sir," he said.

"You'll get the breakfast once you're loaded in and we're ready to head out. At noon, we'll break for lunch and then when we're able to see Fort Johnson, I'll give you the pastry. At any point of backtalk or disrespect, I'll eat it myself."

"Yes, sir, I won't be any trouble to you."

"Alright, let's get on with it then," Adam said.

Ulysses Miller followed every instruction without hesitation and once he was loaded into the cell cart, Deputy Wallace handed him his breakfast and they rode out through the main path in town and north towards Fort Johnson and their destination: Johnsonville.

The morning ride was quiet and pleasant with a rare cloud in the sky and a cool wind that would whip up as the wagon wheels creaked along in the dry, dusty road. Deputy Bernard possessed an outstandingly bothersome habit of whistling, humming, or sometimes even singing songs. He claimed that the lyrics were from songs learned as a boy, but Adam believed that some, if not all of his little tunes, were his own compositions as he thought of them on the spot. The songs lacked much poetic tact and Deputy Bernard lacked the simple ability to produce a decent-sounding note with his singing voice or stay with one note for an acceptable amount of time.

The tick on the dog's ear
Never seems to remotely fear
The scratching claws
Of her massive paws
Or the squirmers on her rear
When she drags so sincere
Across the dusty floor
Across the dusty floo-oor!

"Deputy Bernard," Adam said to the wagon operator after much of the morning had already been spent in the state of a traveling concert. "I don't want any more songs about squirmers. I would prefer some quiet solace. Remember the reason for our work."

"Yes," Ulysses said. "Have mercy on me."

"Quiet now," Adam said, glancing back at the cage, before scanning the horizon and seeing the sun's position above. "I say we ride on yonder to that shade tree. That'll give Mr. Miller some relief from the sun and our horses can water at the creek just by. We can eat lunch before carrying on."

"Yes, sir," Bernard said. "It'll be good to stretch my legs some."

The jail wagon stopped under a colossal cottonwood that could have been close to a century in age, with thick branches stretching out across all directions and blocking out the sun underneath. The wagon halted and Rosemary joined Theseus down in the shallow stream drinking and shaking flies as their tails waved in the breeze.

Ulysses only expressed gratitude for the cornbread and jerky strips. Bernard chewed tenderly on his lunch as most in town knew of the multitude of teeth ailments he constantly dealt with.

"This jerky's rather tender," he said. "Usually can't eat the stuff."

"What do you usually eat?" Adam asked.

"Back at home, I stick to soups and stews," he said. "Something soft that I don't really need to chew. I can just press my tongue against it. My tongue's still strong. Does just as good of a job as my teeth ever did with soups."

"What causes that?" Ulysses asked. "I've never seemed to have trouble with mine."

"My mother and father had bad teeth," Bernard said, now sucking the jerky until it became flavorless and spitting it out.

Adam ate on in silence, not enjoying seeing his beef jerky spat out on the ground, but knowing Bernard could do nothing else with it. Then, in the distance, he saw the shape of four riders heading towards them, coming from the direction they were heading.

"Bernard," Adam said, getting up. "Get Rosemary hitched up again."

"I haven't finished this cornbread yet," he said, before he looked over his shoulder and saw the four riders himself. "I'll just eat it on the road, I suppose."

Adam saddled Theseus and helped Bernard get Rosemary secured to pull the jail wagon again.

"Who do you think they are?" Ulysses asked.

"Hopefully strangers that simply pass us by," Adam said. "But I don't want to be caught flat-footed if they stop us, or try to."

"You're real suspicious," Bernard said. "Could be four men on their way to a barn-raising or a tent revival."

"I believe optimists die first," Adam said and regretted his statement when he saw Bernard's shameful expression.

As the wagon party made their way on the road towards the four riders, Bernard began singing again, but Adam stopped him.

"Don't sing right now," Adam said. "Keep that shotgun close and cocked and do not stop the wagon."

"Yes, sir," Bernard said, pulling the shotgun to his lap as he maintained control of the reins. Adam's pulse began to beat quicker when the four men stopped in the road as his party approached.

"Good afternoon," one of the men called out to them. "Is that a Mr. Ulysses Miller in your jail wagon?"

Adam had his Henry repeater's stock resting on his hip and barrel pointed in the sky.

"That is the business of the law and no one else," Adam said. "Best keep moving so we can deliver our prisoner."

"Them ain't no lawmen," Ulysses said under his breath. "I know those men."

"We were conscripted by Sheriff Phillips in Johnsonville to retrieve the prisoner from you," the leader of the four riders said. "He sent word by telegram this morning."

"Never received such a telegram," Adam said. "Now, let us pass, gentlemen. Any delay will be seen as an obstruction of justice."

"We're trying to help carry out justice," the speaker said. "And save you the rest of the day's journey. It's only out of Sheriff Phillips' decency that he sent us to find you."

"Did he send you with any official papers?"

"Only the telegram," the speaker said. At this point, the wagon passed by the four riders, who turned their horses and rode alongside the wagon and Adam.

"I suggest that you men ride on," Adam said sternly. "Be you upholders of the law, you should know the proper forms needed to retrieve a prisoner."

"Last we heard, Johnsonville couldn't send over any men to retrieve Mr. Miller," Bernard said, before realizing that he said too much.

"That's due to a war band going around and attacking travelers near Johnsonville," the speaker said. "Apaches, most of em. If you are refusing the offer to transfer Mr. Miller to us, allow us join you escorting Mr. Miller to—"

"We kindly refuse," Adam said. "You may ride on ahead of us, but you will not join us. None of you possess any badge from Johnsonville or any other town. You may ride on ahead, but I won't allow you to follow behind."

"Won't allow?" Another horse rider said. "We're offering to help you. It's a war band of twelve well-armed savages you'll have little chance against."

The leader of the four raised his hand so Adam could disregard the man who spoke out of turn.

"We're offering our services, but if you refuse, we'll simply ride on back."

Adam nodded and the men followed the leader and the horses left a trail of dust in their wake as they sprinted back to Johnsonville.

"You think a sheriff sent those men?" Bernard asked.

"No telling," Adam said as the group of three carried on throughout their day's journey. He kept an eye on the men as they grew further in the distance and then, when the road forked down into a lower trail through a valley, he hoped he wouldn't run into an ambush. That was the only path to Johnsonville, however, through a stretch of valley with high canyon walls on either side. The way wasn't narrow, but it certainly led to them being vulnerable.

"What are you thinking, Deputy?" Ulysses asked. "We headed in the same direction?"

"Yep."

"We'll be in a pinch in there, won't we?"

"That's where they'll strike," Adam said. "If they strike, it'll be in that canyon. If we get through there, it's not much further to Johnsonville."

"And I'll get that pastry?" Ulysses asked.

"You will," Adam said.

"I figure it'll be foolish for me to ask for a gun, riding in there,"

"You figure right," Adam said. Ulysses nodded.

The party rode on, the sun growing warm for the first time that year, warm enough to produce sweat on the brows of the men in the wagon and the deputy escorting them on his war steed. As they carried on and took the trail that descended down into the valley, they saw a wake of carcass birds flying overhead. It wasn't until they made their way into the valley, surrounded by the high walls of red soil and rock, when they saw what the birds were feasting on: the four riders, shot through with a plethora of arrows, making each man look like a densely forested island in a red sea. Some of the men also had hatchet marks on their cheeks and face. Their bloody skulls, freshly scalped, glistened in the sun.

"My god," Ulysses breathed out upon the vast scene of death.

"Mr. Bernard," Adam said. "Whip that horse and beat it until we make it out of here. I'll follow up behind."

"Right behind?"

"Right beh—"

An arrow stuck Bernard, stopping about half-through his right wrist as more flew their way. Two struck Theseus and the horse fell, screaming, Adam got up and knew if he did not move to the wagon, all of their fates would follow the same. He staggered with his pistol out firing towards the ridge, blindly firing at their war calls, smoke staying in the air past the explosion of the bullet. He jumped up on the wagon and Bernard, with another arrow in his side and through his thigh, whipped the reins hard and Rosemary pulled at a tremendous speed. Adam attempted to take the reins, although Bernard would not give them to him.

"Shoot em, Deputy!" Bernard shouted, coughing. "Shoot them bastards!"

Adam aimed his rifle and despite the uneven conditions of the trail and the speed that Rosemary was pulling the wagon, he took aim at the ten or so on horseback, now pursuing them along the canyon ridge. He fired well, felling two with their faces caked in white clay as the others hollered in pursuit, waving decorated spears and lances on their painted horses. Arrows tinged off the metal cage as Ulysses swore and cursed their pursuers.

"Go back to hell," he yelled. "From which you came, you savage devils!"

Arrowheads continued to chime off the iron, only growing louder as their pursuers, on quicker steeds, got closer as the valley flattened out. Adam continued to fire and every chance he had to reload, he would look down and see Bernard struggling more to keep a good grip on the reins. Six pursuers remained by the time Adam reached down and picked up the shotgun. He shot, surprised by the kick, seeing the slug round tear through the white appaloosa's neck and tumble violently, downing the rider. He leveled and aimed again at a rider coming up on Bernard's side, readying a spear with decorative feathers flapping near the broad spearhead. The round tore through the rider, spraying blood and meat out in an explosion as the horse pulled away from the cart, with the headless man atop, eventually falling off long after.

Their murder cries pierced the afternoon as Adam continued fending the attackers off, becoming more conservative with his rounds as he knew they were becoming scarce.

"Here they come!" Ulysses shouted, as three riders came up on them, two on Bernard's side and one on the rear, waiting for an opportunity as Adam attempted to fell all three, but failing on his attempts and the riders pushed up as he worked to reload his weapon. Before he could load the last shells into the shotgun, one threw a spear at Rosemary, sending her to topple over herself and then the cart crashed as well. Pieces of wood shattered as the metal cage broke in an eruption of splinters and twisting metal. Adam hit the ground hard and lost consciousness for a moment, waking up, hearing Bernard groaning in pain and Ulysses, also in pain, hollering at Adam to get up.

"Get up, Deputy!" He cried out, pinned by the bent metal cage laying over his legs. Adam heard the sound of approaching hooves. All four riders, who fell back when Rosemary had been struck down, now came up to finish their chase. He pulled his pistol, which had somehow remained holstered and fired when one pursuer dismounted with a stonehead tomahawk only moments away from planting the crude blade into Adam's flesh. The man stepped back and fell as the other pursuers turned their attention on Adam, one readying a final throwing spear, but Adam struck that man down as well, firing into his neck and seeing a geyser of blood as the man, disoriented, wandered off to die, falling to the ground six steps from where he got shot.

"Look out!" Ulysses shouted, although it was too late. An attacker came up from behind him and kicked him hard in the head with his bare feet. His vision blurred when it came back, then it split into two identical views of a hollering native, hair shaved on the sides of his head and his face caked in white paint. There were flecks of blood on his white mask as he screamed holding a large flint blade above him, celebrating, before he reached down with his other hand and pulled hard at Adam's hair, near the roots, making Adam's neck arch up.

Before the man could scalp him, Adam heard a gunshot and then another and another, before the man's grip loosened on his head and fell next to him. Adam, disoriented, looked around and saw Bernard, laying weakly with his own pistol smoking. The last rider leapt off his horse and plunged a lance through Bernard, finishing the man's life abruptly as Ulysses cried out.

Adam looked around and saw his Colt in the dirt, knowing he only had two rounds left. He picked it up as Bernard's killer rushed over to him, leaping with a knife and thrusting it into Deputy Adam Wallace as the lawman fired his last two shots into the chest and gut of the last member of the warband. After the smoke cleared, the warband had been disbanded. All dead. Adam laid there, knife still between his left shoulder and breast. He couldn't move that arm and the Colt fell out of his hands.

"You alright, Deputy?" Ulysses called out as Adam groaned, leaving the blade in, although he had heard that some tribes oiled their blades with poisons. He knew if he pulled it, he would bleed out. Adam sat up in the dirt. It hurt to breathe. There was a pain in his legs that must have come from landing hard after being thrown from the wagon. He called out to Bernard, but the man never moved again.

"They got him, Deputy," Ulysses said. "Damn basterds got him. But he saved you, Deputy. Didn't know he could shoot that good."

As Adam dragged himself closer to Ulysses he had to force out his words.

"Are . . . Are you hurt?" Adam asked.

"I'm pinned," he said. "Pinned, but I think if I can get this cage off me a bit, I should be alright."

"You still shackled?"

"Yes, sir."

"And handcuffed?"

"Yes sir, but they's twisted some."

Adam got to the cage and some power came back into his arm.

"If you can help me lift it," Ulysses said. "I'll carry you into town. Get you help."

"What'll keep you from running off?"

"I ain't gonna leave you," he said. "Without you, we'd all be scalped and skewered. They woulda tortured me to death. I've seen their work. Knows you've, too."

The deputy knew his only option was trusting the man scheduled for his hanging day before tomorrow's sunset. He breathed hard and deep before grimacing in pain, readying for even more when they both lifted the heavy cage. Both men heaved, moving the cage only inches higher, but it was all they needed for Ulysses to unwedge himself and stand up, nearly unscathed from the scene of death and destruction around him.

He walked over to Deputy Wallace and stood there next to the man. They both knew the lawman's chances to live were dwindling. It would take some luck, perhaps God himself intervening, for Ulysses to carry Adam into town, into a doctor's office, and to be saved. It could happen. Men had been saved from death with similar wounds, but time was not on their side.

Adam attempted to see what the handcuffed and shackled man planned on doing, but his expression was near unreadable.

"Keys, Deputy?" Ulysses asked, but all the deputy could do was point towards the breast pocket of his black, bloodstained vest. Ulysses bent down and removed the key after he found it. He unlocked the shackles and then freed his wrists, tossing the restraints off the road into a bricklebush.

Ulysses kneeled next to Deputy Wallace, studying his wounds from battle and gauging all of his options that laid before him under that bright blue sky in the west.