Chapter Thirty-Four
Marston clicked his swollen tongue against the roof of his dry mouth several times in a wasted attempt to get a bit of moisture. He rolled his shoulders to ease his aching muscles but that only served to aggravate the seeping wounds that the Marshall's whip had placed on his flesh.
That was the last time Marston would call the man an inbred, no-brained, ball-less coward.
'No it won't,' that voice in his head countered and instead of arguing, Marston nodded in agreement. As a matter of fact, Marston had a whole new batch of insults he'd been stringing together in his head all day just waiting on the Marshall to pop his head back in.
Without giving much thought to his motions, Marston leaned his back against the cool stone wall and leapt away from it with a curse and a hiss. He contemplated ramming his head into those unforgiving stones until he died—surely that would hurt less.
Marston could smell the infection in his back and he knew that given time, the fresh bloody stripes across his chest would be the same. He was battling a fever, a headache and exhaustion.
Marston wanted to die. He was ready to die. Hell, in all the ways that mattered he'd been dead since the Marshall and his deputies had led him away from that cabin and the only people in the world who mattered.
How long ago had that been? How long had Marston been in this dirty, damp cell? It didn't matter anymore. All Marston knew for sure was that he would be going swinging tomorrow. The Marshall had made it clear that his hanging was scheduled for the next day and a big crowd was expected to turn out for the special event.
At least Marston had a window to enjoy the sunrises and sunsets... he snorted with annoyance and glanced through the iron bars to the view outside.
The gallows and a graveyard. The Marshall had obviously been trying to prove a point when he'd placed Marston in this cell. Bastard. Or better yet; scum-sucking, whore mongering, cock-less wonder. Marston smiled as he sat down on the tattered cot that served as his bed. He'd just come up with his next greeting for the good Marshall.
Marston gingerly laid down, cursing the pain but forcing it aside.
His eyes drifted closed but immediately flew back open when he saw that soft, pale skin, loving blue eyes and tumbling red curls.
"Damnation!" Marston roared before sending his hand crashing into the brick wall. He relished the pain as his knuckles cracked against unforgiving stone. Marston sat up, hissing in pain when the sheet tore away from the sticky wounds on his back.
He forgot pain when he heard the door to the cell hall open. As light poured in from the main office, Marston hoped Marshall Montgomery was coming for another visit so he could share his newest insult with the lawman. Instead, it was one of the deputies; a tall scrawny nineteen year old boy named Pete. A tray of food was balanced on Pete's arm—at least Marston figured it was supposed to be food. Marston knew from experience that the chunky stew smelled like sweat and tasted about the same.
"It's chow time, Marston," Pete said as he approached Marston's cell. "You better eat up because the Marshall says this is your last meal."
Marston chuckled. There were miracles still left to be found in the world. Pete slid the tray through the small rectangular opening in the bars and Marston took it in his dirty hands. He smelled the stew—yep sweat. He sat the tray down on his crooked table and picked up the biscuit, tapping it against the table several times with a thud.
He let out a sigh. "And such gourmet food it is too."
Pete let out a snort of laughter before composing himself and putting his serious face back on. Marston liked Pete okay. He was a decent man for a lawman. Marston wondered if Pete knew the truth about the Marshall he worked under—Marston suspected he didn't.
"Enjoy it, Marston," Pete noted. "Because the gallows are all you have to look forward to tomorrow."
Marston nodded as he stepped back to the bars and put his arms through the opening for his tray, resting his forearms against the metal support beam. He winked at the young deputy. "How about you find me some whiskey, Pete? My back is hurting something fierce and I'd like to get me a few hours sleep before I got swining."
Pete glanced toward the main office with a frown. "I'm not supposed to...."
"I won't tell Sir Licks Ass if you won't," Marston assured him.
Pete's brown eyes lit with amusement but he didn't manage to purse his lips in disapproval. "You shouldn't call him names. It makes him mad and that's why you're in the shape you're in."
Marston reached up and wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. Damn but fevers and infection were hard to tough out. "Why do I care if he's mad?" Marston asked. "He's nothing but a little coward anyhow."
"Coward?" Pete shook his head. "He took you down didn't he?"
Marston grinned. "No. I came willingly."
"Why would you do that?" Pete asked, leaning his hip against the bars of Marston's cell. "I've wondered that since they got back with you. Why does a man who has lived the way you have for almost two decades just up and give himself in to the law when they show up?"
"It's pretty simple, Pete," Marston replied, scratching at his jaw. "My family was threatened and I figured the best way to keep them safe was to go with your friends willingly."
Pete sighed and shook his head. "They're not my friends. And I'm sure the Marshall was bluffing. He wouldn't have harmed your family."
Marston's weak legs ached beneath him. "Keep telling yourself that, Pete. Your boss is as crooked as they come. He makes me look like a puppy dog."
Pete winced. "You better eat your supper, Marston. That stuff tastes bad enough warm, I'm sure it just gets worse when it's cold."
Marston nodded and without warning he reached out his hands lightning fast and snatched Pete's keys from his belt and his gun from his holster.
Pete jumped back, his face pale as Marston retreated one step back in his cell. He clicked his tongue and smiled. "You gotta be more careful, Pete."
"I'll just yell for help..." Pete countered, sweat glistening on his upper lip.
"Won't do much good when you and I are the only ones here, kid. Everyone else is home and warm in their beds."
Marston found the sight of Pete's knees practically knocking together very amusing. Pete swallowed hard. "Are you going to kill me?"
Marston laughed. "Of course not. It's not like I'm a murderer or anything..." Marston winked. "Oh wait, yes I am."
Pete nearly fell backward and Marston laughed harder. "Don't worry, kid, I'm not gonna kill you. You're the only decent fella around here and I'm just teaching you a valuable lesson."
Pete didn't look convinced. "What lesson would that be?"
Marston used the barrel of his revolver to scratch at a scab on his bare stomach. "That things aren't always what they seem. You got too comfortable against my bars not knowing that I could have killed you a hundred different ways. You thought I was too weak to be a threat and you thought wrong. Don't ever let your guard down, kid."
"What are you going to do?" Pete asked. "Tie me up and make your escape?"
Marston shook his head. "Naw, I ain't runnin'."
Marston went back to the bars and held the keys and gun out to Pete. Pete stared hard at him for several long moments and then threw up his hands. "Why the hell not?!" he demanded. "You do realize that you'll die tomorrow, right?"
Marston snorted and let his gaze go out the darkening window. "Hard to forget that when you have a view like mine."
Pete took the gun and keys and let out a pained sigh. "Then why didn't you use those to get away? Anyone else would have."
Marston wondered a moment if Pete hadn't leaned close to his bars on purpose... perhaps the boy's fear had been an act and he'd been trying to give Marston a way out. Marston didn't reckon it mattered. "Because your boss made it clear to me that my family will die if I make an attempt to escape and unlike you, I believe he means it. I love those people more than I love myself so I guess that means I'm swinging tomorrow. Who knows, maybe it'll be a bright, sunny day with clear blue skies and a light breeze blowing.' Marston let out a sigh and stared out the window. "That wouldn't be so bad I guess."
Silence reigned a moment and then Pete grabbed the bars. "For what it's worth, Marston, I don't think I'd hang you if I made the rules. I don't think you're a bad man."
Marston's lips curved in the ghost of a smile as he looked back at Pete. "Then you're a fool."
Pete's eyes were full of sadness as he tapped the bars with his knuckles. "I'll be back in a minute with that whiskey."
"I'd sure appreciate it,' Marston replied, though his gaze was downward as he studied his swollen, bleeding knuckles. He heard Pete's bootsteps fade as the heavy door to the main office opened and closed.
"I love you, Rose," he whispered. "I'm doing this for you."
Marston closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, imaging Rose's soft skin and her loving blue eyes—the thought gave him the smallest sense of peace.
***
Duke leaned against the stone wall of the jail and fought back a wave of sorrow. Every hope he'd had for aiding Marston escape had just been taken away.
He'd heard what Marston had said to the young deputy. It was just as Duke had figured. If Marston escaped then Marshall Montgomery and every other crooked lawman he could find would be after Rose and the children....
Duke tore himself away from the wall and rubbed at his burning eyes. All he could do was be there tomorrow when his friend breathed his last breaths and he could see that Rose and those children never wanted for anything. That was all there was to do.
Duke went to the saloon at the other end of town and pulled himself up to the bar. He ordered two shots of whiskey, one for himself and one for Marston, and then he downed them both.
A/n: This is not the end of the story. I was reuploading when my computer crashed. As soon as it's fixed (hopefully by the end of the week), I'll finish putting up the chapter and get the other two stories in this series back on wattpad as well! Thank you for reading!