"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
Duncan took a slow breath, letting the weight of her words settle into the quiet. “Sounds like you made a choice,” he said finally, his voice even. “A choice to love someone enough to give them a chance at freedom. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but I reckon it wasn’t about fairness, was it? It was about... protecting something you couldn’t bear to lose.”
"Yes, that's a good way to put it." agreed the formerly frosty woman. This man might be taking her to her death, but he was the first man who had listened to her, really listened to what she had to say, since Roland.
He tipped his hat back slightly, glancing at her without turning his head fully. “A lot of folks don’t understand what it’s like to be cornered like that. To live in a place where every choice feels like the wrong one, but you make it anyway. That takes a kind of courage.”
"It didn't feel very brave at the time... I just did it." she answered, her voice distant and her eyes living again in yesterday.
They rode a while. Both deep in thought.
Finally, he turned to face her, his blue eyes steady but soft. “I’m not saying you were wrong. Maybe there wasn’t a right way out of it. But I reckon love—real love—ain’t just about surviving the worst of it. It’s about finding a way to make something better out of it. Something that lasts.”
She looked over at him, her eyes steady despite the swaying of her horse.
“And maybe,” he added, almost to himself, “sometimes we only see the shape of that love after the dust has settled.”
"There has been someone in your life, hasn't there?" she asked simply, her former coolness toward him by this time melted away by, if nothing else, the weariness of travel and the feeling of being trapped alone together in this vast unpopulated prairie. Despite the endless space around them, there was something undeniably intimate about their situation: more so than if they had been trapped in a Chicago elevator or fallen down a well together.
"Justice doesn’t always wait for the law to catch up."
Duncan kept his gaze on the horizon, the reins loose in his hands as his horse plodded along. For a long moment, he didn’t answer, the only sound between them the soft creak of saddle leather and the rhythmic crunch of hooves against dry grass.
“There was,” he finally said, his voice quiet but steady. “Her name was Isidora.” Talking about Isidora was like pressing on an old wound—dull but persistent, the ache still fresh if he thought about it too long.
“She had this way of walking into a room,” Duncan continued, his words coming slower now, as though each one carried weight. “Like she knew exactly who she was and dared anyone to question it. Smart, funny—had a laugh that could make you forget the world was falling apart.”
He exhaled, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips. “She worked at her parents’ general store, back in Doaksville. Spent most of her days arguing with customers over the price of coffee or whether the flour sacks were short a pound. She had this fire in her, though, this... spark. She could make you feel like the most important man alive one moment, and then cut you down to size the next—always kept me on my toes.”
Duncan’s expression grew distant, his thoughts clearly somewhere far away. “I used to stop by the store more often than I needed to. Buying nails one day, a tin of tobacco the next—any excuse to see her. She knew, of course. Isidora always knew.”
He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. “I thought about settling down. Thought maybe the Marshal’s badge could come off, and I could help her run that little store. But life doesn’t always work that way.”
There was a pause, and then his voice softened. “But it didn’t last. We both wanted different things. Or maybe… maybe I wasn’t brave enough to want the same thing.”
Duncan chuckled dryly, though there was no humor in it. “She deserved better than waiting around for a man who’d spend more time chasing outlaws than building a life with her. I hope she’s happy.”
He finally glanced over at her, his gaze steady but tinged with vulnerability. “We all have our ghosts, don’t we?”
Javia
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
Duncan chuckled dryly, though there was no humor in it. “She deserved better than waiting around for a man who’d spend more time chasing outlaws than building a life with her. I hope she’s happy.”
He finally glanced over at her, his gaze steady but tinged with vulnerability. “We all have our ghosts, don’t we?”
Zenobia glanced back and nearly... nearly... let her frosty reserve down a little: but then the old brittle Zenobia rallied and she came back with a typical terse reply.
"Mr Kerrigan, I am soon to BE a ghost!"
In truth, she felt rather frustrated by the man: here he was, big handsome hunk of a man - even she had to admit that. In other circumstances... well, no point dwelling on that, was there? Anyway, this handsome man, who could have made some woman a fine loving husband, throwing his and this Isobel's happiness away from sone muddled ideas of duty or letting her live her life the way she wanted or some other tomfool notions. Why, it was ridiculous.
"Now listen" she said sternly "When we get to Kalispell, you need to send a telegram to this Dorksville place and tell this Isobel straight: quote 'Am free to marry you, if you come here before June. Reply by bearer.' If she does, marry the girl, if she doesn't, forget her and find someone else. There's plenty of free and single girls in Kalispell. Oh, but avoid Anæsthesia Orr.."she warned him "... she'll run rings round you."
She looked him up and down appraisingly as he rode easily on his horse.
"If they weren't going to string me up, I'd take you in hand myself."
"Justice doesn’t always wait for the law to catch up."
Duncan let Zenobia’s words hang in the air for a moment, his usual easy confidence tempered by something softer. He looked straight ahead, the reins loose in his hand, and spoke in a low, even voice.
“Miss Matthews,” he began, “I reckon you’re right about one thing: there’s no use lettin’ life slip by without sayin’ what needs sayin’. You’ve got a knack for cuttin’ straight to the heart of things, and I’ll admit, I’ve been dancin’ around this Isobel business longer than a man should.”
He sighed, the lines around his eyes deepening as he glanced her way. “But there’s somethin’ you don’t understand, and maybe that’s my fault for not explainin’ it proper. When a man like me takes on the badge, he doesn’t just give up his life—he gives up the right to pull someone else into it. Isobel deserves better than a husband who might not come home one day ‘cause some outlaw got the drop on him. I’ve seen too many widows in this line of work to wish that on her—or anyone.”
His horse shifted beneath him, and he gave the reins a gentle tug, his voice softening. “But I’ll tell you this, Zenobia. You’re right about one more thing: if she’s willin’ to take that risk, then I owe her the chance to say so. When we get to Kalispell, I’ll send that telegram. I owe her—and myself—that much.”
Duncan fell quiet for a few beats, then turned in the saddle, his gaze steady and warm. “And as for you takin’ me in hand, Miss Matthews..." a small, crooked smile touched his lips. “If I can handle a gang of desperados, I reckon I could handle a firebrand like you. Though I would say that you would give me a run."
He gave her a nod, his expression turning thoughtful once more, as the sound of hoofbeats carried them both toward Kalispell.
Javia
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
His horse shifted beneath him, and he gave the reins a gentle tug, his voice softening. “But I’ll tell you this, Zenobia. You’re right about one more thing: if she’s willin’ to take that risk, then I owe her the chance to say so. When we get to Kalispell, I’ll send that telegram. I owe her—and myself—that much.”
“Good. And I think we should keep it Mr Kerrigan, and Miss Matthews, don’t you, Mr Kerrigan?” she replied sternly. Despite the fact that they were discussing Duncan’s love life didn’t, in Zenobia’s view, mean that they should be getting over-familiar with each other!
Duncan fell quiet for a few beats, then turned in the saddle, his gaze steady and warm. “And as for you takin’ me in hand, Miss Matthews..." a small, crooked smile touched his lips. “If I can handle a gang of desperados, I reckon I could handle a firebrand like you. Though I would say that you would give me a run."
“What a pity for you that you’ll never find out” she said with her chin held high, and, as soon as he’d looked away, a faint smile on her face.
They bivouacked near a stream and Zenobia helped make the fire and tend the horses and did her ablutions as best she could with the manacles and leg-irons on. The next morning found them stiff and cold with little in the way of food and drink to cheer them. But tonight would find them in the civilized environs of Butte where they could lodge somewhere in comfort.
The previously uncooperative Zenobia was now all business, she seemed to want them to hurry on their way, rushing to her inevitable end.
By noon, they’d made good time. But they were being watched. Nothing a town-bred piece of goods like Zenobia would notice, but to a man like Duncan Kerrigan, the renegade Indian party of rather careless young and inexperienced braves, out to prove themselves and score coups, would have discovered themselves eventually.
The dawn came sluggish and gray. Duncan had been the first to stir, shaking off the stiffness of a cold night on hard ground. He stretched, rolling his shoulders before moving to check the horses, ensuring their tack was in order and none of the animals had strained against their hobbles in the night. Satisfied, he knelt by the fire’s embers and fed it some kindling, coaxing it back to life for a quick breakfast.
His instincts told him something wasn’t right—an unease that had settled in his gut overnight and hadn’t gone away. His sharp eyes scanning the tree line for anything out of place.
Breakfast had been quite as did the morning ride. By noon, they’d made good time. As they traveled, Duncan stayed alert, his sharp eyes flicking to every rustling bush and shadow that seemed too still. He noted the signs—tracks where none should be, the faint glint of something metallic in the distance. He slowed their pace, careful not to spook the horses, "Miss Matthews.", he called, his voice low but firm. “Hold up.”, as they paused briefly in a clearing, Duncan using the break to scan the horizon more thoroughly.
Duncan shifted in his saddle then dismounted, his boots crunching against the dirt as he walked a few paces to the side of the trail. He crouched low, brushing his fingers across the earth, and scanned the tree line. It was quiet—too quiet.
“We’re being watched,” he said simply. “There’s a band of braves tailing us,” he said. “Young ones, by the way they’re moving. Sloppy, but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous.”
Mounting his horse again, Duncan urged it forward at a careful pace, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. He made sure to keep Zenobia within arm’s reach, his hand never straying far from his weapon. The braves might have been inexperienced, but Duncan had seen men like them grow into real threats. He wasn’t about to give them the chance—not today.
Duncan clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward at a measured pace. “We keep moving like nothing’s wrong. They’re likely watching for signs of weakness or fear. Don’t give them any. If they make a move, you stay behind me and do as I say. No heroics. Got it?”
Javia
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
Zenobia had been pretty quiet all morning, as she rocked gently on her horse. At least that meant that she wasn’t being snappy, but she was understandably pre-occupied. In a couple of days they would arrive in Kalispell and she would be thrown into the jail there to meet her doom. She played the scene over and over in her mind, imagining herself being brave on the scaffold, or breaking down, or being saved by some last gasp pardon – Hector Wigfall running along the Main Street shouting “Stop! Stop! A telegram from the Governor!!”
She imagined him being just in time, and the noose being removed from her neck; then she’d imagine him being just too late, and her boots dangling uselessly above the wide hard mud of Mainstreet. She didn’t know why, but she always imagined the execution taking place there, even though logic dictated otherwise.
Then she imagined the faces in the crowd, some gloating some, even worse, sorry for her, some strangers, some she knew. Funny, she never imagined the face of Roland Smith among those phantasms, somehow she knew for certain that he would not be there. It made her shudder. But did she really prefer to have it done in private? Why was she even thinking this? This was unreal! It wasn't happening!
“We’re being watched,” he said simply.
Zenobia jumped slightly.
“What?!”
“There’s a band of braves tailing us,” he said.
“Indians? Oh God!” she gasped. Suddenly a more immediate and painful death hovered near her. Death, or worse…
“Young ones, by the way they’re moving. Sloppy, but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous.”
“Well, we… we need to go back!” she said urgently, grasping at straws.
Duncan clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward at a measured pace. “We keep moving like nothing’s wrong. They’re likely watching for signs of weakness or fear. Don’t give them any. If they make a move, you stay behind me and do as I say. No heroics. Got it?”
“Heroics?!” she snapped. This was more like her usual self, now she was over the immediate shock. “I can hardly be heroic in shackles, can I? You need to take them off me and give me a gun so I can defend myself!!” she demanded.
"Justice doesn’t always wait for the law to catch up."
Duncan slowed his horse slightly, turning his head to give her a calm, measured look. "Heroics don't always need a gun, and I'd wager you've got enough fight in you to cause trouble even in shackles," he said, his tone even but with a faint trace of wry humor.
He faced forward again, his voice firm. "I know you're feeling cornered, but think about it—if I take those off and arm you, what do you think they'll do? A shackled prisoner’s one thing, but a free woman with a gun? They won’t hesitate to open fire."
Pausing for a moment, he softened slightly. "Trust me on this. You’re safer letting me handle the shooting. If it comes to a fight, I’ll keep you covered. But right now, we’re playing a game of patience and perception. We stay calm, we stay smart, and we’ll get through this."
He gave her a sidelong glance. "Save the demands for when we’re out of the woods. Deal?"
Javia
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
Pausing for a moment, he softened slightly. "Trust me on this. You’re safer letting me handle the shooting."
"That's easy for you to say!" Zenobia hissed "You want to try being trusted up like a Thanksgiving Turkey while there's redskins about to massacre us!"
"If it comes to a fight, I’ll keep you covered. But right now, we’re playing a game of patience and perception. We stay calm, we stay smart, and we’ll get through this."
"Let me out of these shackles!!" the young woman suddenly blurted, sounding desperate and scared.
He gave her a sidelong glance. "Save the demands for when we’re out of the woods. Deal?"
"The only deal I want to make is that you'll put a bullet in my head before you let those jackals capture me!" she snapped.
@[Jhwulfven]
"Justice doesn’t always wait for the law to catch up."
Duncan’s jaw tightened, his eyes scanning the horizon as the horses plodded along. The tension between them hung as heavy as the late afternoon heat, but he could hear the fear behind Zenobia’s sharp words. He exhaled through his nose, calming himself before speaking.
"You want those shackles off?" he said finally, his voice steady but low. "Then you come here, close enough that I don’t have to risk slowing us down. No sudden moves. We clear?"
As Zenobia moves closer, he reached down with the key. Unlocking the leg shackles slowly, then making sure that they did not drop. He wrapped them once around the the horn of his saddle.
"I think it gives you one less thing to complain about," Duncan replied. He reached into his saddlebag, pulling out his spare revolver. He held it toward her, grip-first. "Before you take it. I’m giving you a choice," Duncan said, his gaze meeting hers. "You can shoot if you have to, but you’ll do it under my lead. No wasting bullets. And no aiming at me, got it?" Pulling his reins tighter and glancing toward the trail ahead. "Just remember—if it comes to a fight, I’ll get us through. Trust me on that."
Javia