But that was the end of his speech. From the valley below, a rumbling rose up. Low at first, but it began to build. Hoots and hollers began to be mixed in. As the rumbling hit full crescendo, it was joined by the cracks of rifle fire.
“The Column!” The Major screamed.
Muzzle flashes lit the valley below. The hollers became distinctly war cries. The Blackfeet were charging on the main column. A sitting duck, idle, exposed on the valley floor.
“To your mounts!” The Major barked orders, while chasing down his horse. “Sargent Major! The wagon! We'll need all the firepower we can muster!” The Sargent Major saluted, and hopped up into the seat for the large wagon. The team had already been harnessed, and they galloped off down the slop of the valley.
“What about the woman?” The trooper holding Jill yelled.
“Forget about her! To your horse!” The Lieutenant yelled back. The trooper pushed Jill out of the way as he charged to get to his mount. She stumbled back, tripped and fell backwards into the freshly dug grave. Her head hit the side as she went down, and everything went black as she crumpled into heap at the bottom of the hole.
Floating in and out of consciousness, she was vaguely aware of the sound of combat in the distance. Gun shots and the screams of men. Blacking out again, she came too later to what sounded like two voices talking calmly. One voice was definitely the Sheriff, but the other she didn't recognize. She tried to cry out, but could only manage a horse whisper. She tried to stand, but the excretion slumped her in unconscious once again. She awoke a third time to see the Sheriff standing above her, looking down. The sun was out above him, and he reached out a hand.
“Anything broken?” He said with a smirk.
“My nose.” Jill replied. “Maybe my head...” The Sheriff grabbed her by a shoulder and pulled her to a sitting position. From there he pulled her to her feet. After untying her hands, she climbed out of the grave. “What happened?”
“The Blackfeet happened.” The Sheriff gestured down into the valley. Even through her blurry eyes, she could made out the battlefield. Men and horses lay dead with the sun of the morning beating down upon them. “Last I saw, the 16th Cavalry were heading north. The Blackfeet nation not far behind.”
“How did you get down? The rope... I heard voices.,,:
“Well, that's a might difficult to explain...”
“The guns!” It suddenly struck Jill. “They took the guns!”
“They left the buckboard.” Said the Sheriff. The brown mares were harnessed in front of the small wagon. It sat by the boulder near the oak tree. The noose still hung from it's low branch. “There's most of the revolvers and at least fifty of the rifles. As for the rest, I guess the Blackfeet got them, after all.”
“I wish we had been selling rifles to the Indians. At least then we might have gotten paid.” Jill's head throbbed.
“Here.” The Sheriff held out his hand, Jill's derringer was in it. “You almost got me out of another tight spot.”
“I guess I didn't need to so brave. You Pappy took care of you, just like you said he would.”
“I guess he did, though not exactly as I have figured it...”
“I thought you'd gone loco. Working so hard to dig that hole.”
“If that was the last thing I was gonna do, I was gonna do it right.” Said the Sheriff. Jill found this morbidly funny, and couldn't help but laugh.
“Your father make any prognostications about my future? Without those rifles, I'm broke.”
“I don't think you entered into his plan.”
“A shame...”
“Still, Mrs. Sears, our deal stands. I promised you good return on those rifles, and I plan to pay.”
“You're broke.”
“Before, you said you'd take my saloon.”
“The Singing Hinny? You're joking.”
“I'm not going to joke on a day like today.”
“Ain't that bar some part of your new fate? Your Daddy's big plan?”
“New fate, old fate, it's just a bar. We're making our own futures here, Mrs. Sears.”
“You're serious.”
“I am. It ain't much of a place. It's gotten all shot to heck, but it's the only steady income in town. Now, I know it's not exactly respectable for a woman to run a saloon...”
“Sheriff, right now I can't afford respectable.”
“Then it's a deal?”
“Yes, it's a deal.”
“Good. Let's get moving. This time for home. Sooner we set out, the sooner we're back to civilization.”
And they climbed up onto the buckboard, pointed the horses south, and headed out.
They made faster time on their returned trip. The second night, the Sheriff manged to take a dear with one of the remaining rifles, and they ate venison on sticks, roasted over the fire. The saw no sign of Cavalry or Indian on the trail, but they kept their campfires small, and slept in shifts all the same.
It was a Sunday evening by the time they reached the town of Corral. From there they could follow the railroad tracks back up into the hills, and back to End of the Line; but by this point they had been on the trail for almost two weeks, and most of the last week had been without provisions. The sight of civilization filled Jill with an overwhelming desire to sleep in a real bed, and to eat hot food that did taste like burnt wet wood.
As they rolled onto the main street of Corral, things seemed suspiciously quiet. It was dark, but it couldn't have been much past six thirty. Unlike End of the Line, Corral was a bustling, prosperous farming town. Farmers might be sober, honest folk, but lights out at six o'clock seemed extreme even for a Sunday.
“Mighty quiet...” The Sheriff volunteered, as they pulled up in front of the Continental Hotel. The street lights were lit, and horses loitered at hitching posts, but nobody was on the street.
“Maybe the theater's in town?” Jill speculated. She stepped down from the buckboard and stretched.
“Just our luck to miss a show.”
“Lets just hope theres food cooking somewhere.”
“You said it.” The Sheriff climbed the steps and cracked open the door to the hotel. “Nobody here, neither.”
“Well, this is just down right unfriendly...” Jill said. She climbed up onto the boardwalk and tried to looked through the hotel's window. As she did, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. She was horrified. He nose was crooked and broken, swollen to twice its normal size. Dirt and black soot covered her face, and her hair under the large hat was oily and wild. Suddenly the full gravity of the last few days hit her. What had she done? Why had she been so foolhardy in the first place.
“Why didn't you tell me I look like this?” Jill said, unable to pull away from the glass.
“You look fine.” The Sheriff said. “Trail dust and soot.”
“My nose...”
“You look fine.” Repeated the Sheriff, but his attention was drawn up the street. A man had stepped out onto the boardwalk a few doors down. He was a plump fellow, with long sideburns and a wool jacket. He looked at the Sheriff and Jill, thought little of them, the did a double take. He seemed to recognize the Sheriff.
“You, you there!” He stammered, jogging towards them on the boardwalk.
“Hey, where the heck are folk-” The Sheriff tried, but the man interrupted.
“You're the Sheriff from up in End of the Line, ain't ya? I rented you a wagon not a fortnight ago. You remember me?”
“Well, about the wagon...”
“Doesn't matter. Nope. I'm sure glad you're here, Sheriff. We've got one heck of a situation here.”
“Well, as that may be, I've had a long haul today. All I can think about if sleep any maybe some chow. You know if there's still-”
“No, no, you don't understand! Something needs to be done!”
“I understand I'm hungry. I'm sure your local fella can handle whatever trouble is a brewing.”
“But that's just it! Our Sheriff is dead! Shot through the head!”
“Poor soul. You raised a posse?”
“Didn't need to. Got the fella that done it, right there in the jail.” The man gestured down the street.
“Good job, now do you know if the-” The Sheriff gestured towards the hotel.
“But that ain't the half of it!”
“You caught the guy?”
“Yes.”
“And he's in jail?”
“Yes.”
“And he ain't escaped?”
“No.”
“Then what'd you need me for?”
“Well, the Sheriff... That is, our Sheriff. He was quite popular in town. Folk have taken his death kind of hard. To hard, you might be saying.”
“They'll get over it.”
“Well, yes, but you see... There's a group of... Well, citizens... they're in Steely's Bar just yonder. There's talk of...”
“Well, what?”
“They're talk about rushing the jail, and stringing up the fella that done shot the Sheriff.” The man let the words rush out in a long torrent with no pauses. “ There's only the Deputy Sheriff in there with the prisoner, and he just a kid really... It terrible, terrible I tell you...”
“A lynching?” The Sheriff seemed upset. He rubbed at his throat in sympathy.
“Yes, in Corral. Can you believe it?”
“Well, we'll see about that.” The Sheriff said, and started off down towards the jail. The chubby man followed behind, and Jill kept pace out of curiosity.
At the jail, the Sheriff pushed open the door without knocking. Inside, a young man sat at a desk, with a shotgun cracked open in front of him. He flinched as the door opened, and fumbled with the weapon.
“Don't worry, I ain't here to kill ya.” Said the Sheriff authoritatively. “What's this I hear about a lynching?”
“They're over there now.” The young man said, nodding across the street. There was a well light saloon directly opposite. Things seemed quiet. “Getting all liquored up. The ringleaders were here a few hours ago, demanding that I release my prisoner. I told them to go to hell. They didn't like the sound of that. They said they'd be coming back. Coming back with friends.”
“How many where there?”
“Dozen, maybe. Big fella did most of the talking.”
“And they're fit for a hanging?”
“Ain't no doubt about it.”
“And I thought this was a friendly town..”
“Well, our Sheriff was a might popular.”
“But a lynching? That ain't what he'd have wanted.”
“No sir.”
“So, where's this prisoner, then? Let me take a look at him if everybody wants so bad.” The Sheriff asked, and turned to a row of cell, lining the far wall. In one, a man in black lay on a cot. His back was turned, and his hat was over his head.
“Wake up!” The young man yelled, and rapped the shotgun butt against the bars. The man stirred, and rolled to his other side. Both the Sheriff and Jill gasped in unison.
“Nice hat you got there, Sheriff.” Lon Doogan said, and smiled.