Barnabas Modine rode into the little town accompanied by two deputies. He was a Pinkerton man and had been contacted by a quorum of shareholders in the Gulf Colorado & Santa Fe Railroad Company. They had sent one Nate Cooper, a well known bounty hunter, to Redemption, Arizona in search of a notorious gun man and bank robber, known only as Cort, who had been named as the leader of a gang who had boarded and robbed the train from Galveston to Alvin, the spring just past. It had been the third such incident and all had been carried out by the same gang. One of them had boasted to a female passenger that he was the legendary Cort who had been written about in various newspaper and dime novels sold all over the country.

But Nate Cooper had never returned. There hadn't been a word from him since he rode out of Abilene and that had been six weeks before. It looked like foul deeds had been done. Modine was determined to get to the bottom of it.

They went first to the livery stables to leave their horses and Modine started an idle chat with the man there. Yeah, a body had been brought in a couple of weeks back, dead as a doornail- shot through the head. Sheriff found him out on the desert somewhere...Next stop the undertaker and a few more searching questions.

"Believe you buried some unknown man not too long ago?"

"Yeah." Was Miller's monosyllabic response.

"I think I might know who he was. Friend of mine. Name of Cooper."

"Could be. On the other hand could be anyone. Not much left o'him by now, I reckon."

"Cooper always wore a snakeskin round his hat. Sort of signature of his."

Miller stopped, long enough for Modine to see the hesitation. "This unknown man wore a hat like that?" Miller shrugged. "He was coming here for a purpose you know? He was working for me. I'm a lawman, name of Modine..."

"Cort's a good man. He says he found him dead out there. I believe him. Everyone in this town believes him...Cooper was a bounty hunter. Cort's past misdeeds ain't still active. They was years ago. No bounty still on his head..."

"Who said anything about Cort? I think you just gave yourself away there. So you knew Cooper was a bounty hunter? How? If you been hiding his identity, you in real trouble. Tell me all you know 'fore you really make me angry..."

Miller pulled out the poster with the sketch of Cort and the bounty clearly stated. Modine snatched it off him. "So you knew the bounty was still on his head and you kept this quiet? Not much choice, hey? The sheriff wouldn't take too kindly to you asking questions though, would he now?"

"Sheriff Cort's not that kind of man. He wouldn't gun any man down in cold blood and ..."

"So who else round here had a reason to kill Nate Cooper?"

Modine tipped his hat and strode out of the shop. His next stop was the sheriff's office. 

Cort was working on some documents that had arrived from the judge. He hated paperwork and had been pushing these aside for days. This morning he was determined to get them filled in and despatched when the door swung open and three men entered.

"Gentlemen?"

"You Cort? Used to ride with Herod?"

Cort frowned, recognising from their tone that something was up. "Yes, I am. And you gentlemen are...?"

"Here to arrest you for several raids on state railways in Texas and New Mexico and the murder of Nathaniel Cooper, bounty hunter. I don't want no trouble, Cort. These men have guns trained on you so none of your quick draw shit."

He looked from one to the other, saw the rifles pointed. At first his brain didn't comprehend the words and he stood quietly, unresisting. "Nathaniel Cooper? Who's Nathaniel Cooper?" His voice was soft and betrayed his bewilderment. Modine threw the wanted poster on the desk before him. "He was carrying this. The day you shot him out in the llano."

Cort saw the poster, recognised himself. "I ain't robbed no banks. I'm the sheriff here in Redemption."

"Yeah, perfect little set up, ain't it? Reminds me of how your mentor, Herod, used to work it. Boy, did he train you well. You killed him as well, didn't you? Sort of poetic justice in that though, ain't there? Man corrupts young boy who grows up to kill him - and become him. Well, I got some more poetic justice for you, son. You're gonna hang. Twist in the wind. Won't that make a pretty picture?"

They turned Cort round and cuffed his hands roughly, pushing him away from the desk and relieving him of his guns and knife. Hauling him unceremoniously out of the office, he was run down the steps and told to mount his horse. The men prepared to get on their own.

People ran onto the streets alerted by the few witnesses. "Hey, what's going on?" Men shouted across.

"Keep out of it. Your sheriff's a wanted man. This is state business."

"He's a good man. Reformed. Turned this town around the past year..."

"...While he's been disappearing off to make his pile in other states. You ever wonder where he goes when he rides out of town for a week or two? Ever wonder how he conveniently found the dead body of the last man who came to bring him in?"

That news stunned most of the bystanders into silence. Cort was always riding out and did spend time unaccounted for. And he had brought in that mystery man weeks back...How easily scandal grips people. How readily they will believe the accusations despite all the evidence to the contrary. Cort wasn't like them. No one really knew or understood him. Admiration for him quickly dissipated and turned to doubt. After all...do you remember when he....that was only a few years ago, mind....

The four men rode out of town with Cort largely insensible to the humiliation of his position. He had been there before- the scars on his wrist reminded him of worse every day of his life. There was only one thing on his mind. Hope and Chance. He had to see her, tell her something. Where was she? Why hadn't she come out when all the commotion happened on the street?

Cort called over a boy watching the arrest. "Go get Miss Johnson or Chance. Quick!" The boy dashed to the office but came straight out.

"Not there, sheriff. Sorry."

The enormity of his plight hit him then. He turned to his captors "Where are you taking me?"

"Tucson."

"Casey? You heard that? Tell Miss Johnson I'm in Tucson. Tell her I didn't do it. I swear I didn't. Frank, will you do this for me? Please..."

Frank Casey nodded. "Sure I will, Cort. If it's any consolation, I don't think you did it, either. Good luck, son." But his voice betrayed him; Cort was already a dead man. His past reputation would make sure of that.

Hope had been visiting the oldest resident in the area whose birthday- ninety, or so she believed- was coming up. She had spent a fascinating morning listening to the old girl's stories of her childhood in Germany and the journey she had made to the New World and then out here in days far wilder than existed then. Chance had come with her. He had been down of late and had hung around the office a lot. Hope had thought he might enjoy this trip out and it was also like a history lesson for him. He had responded and found the little old shrivelled lady a delight. It had been good to see light in his eyes again.

It was late afternoon when they made their way back to town from the outlying farm where old Christina Henkel lived with her granddaughter and family. Hope pulled the trap into the livery stables and Chance helped her down. She noticed a certain reserve there but thought little of it. Passing along the street, several people averted their eyes when she greeted them or merely mumbled a response. It was most odd.

Emily Casey came out of her store, wiping her hands on her apron. From the door, she beckoned over to Hope and Chance and they turned to enter. Inside Frank and Emily stood together and offered Hope a chair, sending their daughter into the back for privacy. It was more than clear that something was wrong.

"What is it, Emily. Please...?"

Emily put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "No easy way to tell you this, honey. Cort's been arrested for robbery and murder. They got a bunch of evidence against him. I'm so sorry, darlin', I'm so sorry. They took him to Tucson this morning. He asked us to tell you..."

"What? Robbery and murder? Is this some thing from his past? I thought he had an amnesty? How can this have happened now?" Hope gasped.

Frank shook his head sadly. "New charges. Recent. They reckon he's been robbing trains with some gang in Texas. And he killed the guy who came looking for him."

"Killed? What are you talking about?" Hope was beginning to get hysterical. "You've seen him. He wouldn't even draw on that kid in the street. He wouldn't kill anyone..."

"Man he brought in off the llano. He was a bounty hunter with a wanted poster with Cort's name on it...evidence is pretty damning, Miss Johnson..." He stopped in surprise as Chance ran from the shop hell-for-leather and went through the door like he had the devil on his tail. It made them stop and gave Hope something else to focus her attention on, away from the nightmarish vision that her brain was struggling against.

"Chance!" She turned back to the Caseys. "The boy is besotted with the sheriff...he will be devastated. I have to go and console him..."

"Hope, honey, you need to deal with this yourself first. Chance will get over it...but you and Cort...I mean, everyone knows...you're walking out with him...this is a mortal blow to your dreams..."

Hope stood up and breathed deeply. "I thank you for your concern. Both of you. But Cort is innocent and I mean to prove it. You know he didn't do these things. He simply isn't capable of such a thing anymore. Or am I the only true friend he has in this town after all he has done for you?" She turned on her heel and followed her son out.

The jail in Tucson was no cell behind a sheriff's office. It was a real stinking prison. Cort sat on the earth floor of the exercise ground, his ankles shackled, watching other men similarly chained shuffle around. Some were alone, some in groups, all were watching each other with the hunted and cowed look of a beaten dog. You could smell fear and desperation from men who had nothing much left to lose. You could also smell filth, shit, piss, sweat, stale semen, unwashed bodies. Cort realised that as each day passed, he noticed the smell less. He also knew why. He smelt just as bad by now.

His mouth was parched and his belly empty. The first day in the rotten food had affected his now more refined gut and he had vomited and shat for three days until he thought he would evacuate his entire body. The worst was over now but he just felt weak and dehydrated. His mind imagined water, clear and fresh, sweet and clean. Someone passed him a slimy tin cup of murky coffee; he drank it despite his revulsion.

"What they got you for?" The man with the coffee cup asked as he took back his can and drained the dregs. Cort said nothing. "You dumb or just plain ignorant?" Cort shrugged. "Well, you be like that, son. Soon enough you'll realise a man needs friends in here. You might not be the purtiest thing I've seen in a while but then you look better than most. That hair for example...almost like a lady..."

Cort moved so fast that his whey-faced taunter was still sneering when he was pinned to the wall. "You fuckin' threatening me? You or anyone else tries to touch me, I'll have your heart with my bare hands! You got that?" He flung the man from him and spat the bitter coffee and bile on the ground by him. Looking around he dared someone else to challenge him. He knew the score. He knew what men did to men in these places. They better know what men like him did in return.

"Nicely done there, mister...I know you, don't I? Used to ride with John Herod? Gunman. Fastest fuckin' action I ever seen. Let me think...Cort, ain't it? Yeah... Cort...that's it." Cort spun round and saw a familiar face. Pat Geraghty. One of the many scum from his past.

He walked off.

Alone later on the hard bunk in his cell, Cort lay back and thought. He was innocent, but to prove that he would have to involve Chance- and that he could not do. If his son only got a light sentence (which was unlikely given the circumstances) it would mean a hell hole like this- he didn't even want to imagine the degradation that would be exacted on a young handsome boy in a place of violent men starved of women. Most likely they would hang him anyway. He would not have it. Chance would not suffer and ruin his life over one mistake. He had never done anything for his son and now was his chance not only to repay the boy and Hope for all he had failed to be, but also make amends to Clara for what he had done to her and her family, and perhaps at last to make reparation for the other sins that lay upon his soul. He deserved to die ten times over for what he had knowingly done in the past. It was fitting that when the end came it should be for someone he loved.

Hope caught up with Chance back at their rooms; he was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. She knocked and entered softly, sitting down by him and stroking back his thick chestnut hair. He seemed more like his father everyday.

"Are you all right, Chance? I know you're very fond of Cort. I'm sure this is a real shock."

Chance rolled onto his side and took her hand. "It's not me. It's you. You and Cort love each other- I'm not blind. They'll hang him for this. It's not fair...it's not fair...just when you had a chance for a life of your own...and I know he's innocent, I know he is..." He was beginning to get hysterical, his voice rising and breaking slightly in the manner of boys on the brink of manhood. Hope shushed him and tried to calm him.

"I know he's innocent. We just have to find a way to prove it. I haven't given up hope. Hope. That's my name...that's all we have..."

"You don't understand...He is innocent...I know it ...because...because I killed that man and he is protecting me...he knows I did it and he told me not to say anything...but it was me...it was me...." At that he burst into sobbing and buried his head on his sister's lap.

Hope stared at him, frozen with fear. What was he talking about? How could he have killed a man? But she knew even as she sat there that it was true. The nightmare had reoccurred. Just when she was on the brink of happiness, the evil of the world of guns and outlaws came back to tear down all she had dreamed of.

"Tell me everything that happened. Don't leave anything out."

He finished and she sat in silence with the full knowledge of what would be Cort's plan. He would hold his peace, say nothing, and then when it came to it, offer up his life on behalf of the son he had never been able to raise. It reminded Hope of that line from Dickens, from A Tale of Two Cities, where Carton gives his life for another man. "It is a far, far better thing that I do now than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." Her knowledge of the man she loved told her that Cort would never shirk from that task. In some curious reasoning of his own he would deem it as the right way for him to finally pay his debts.

Hope made her mind up. Somehow she would solve this problem; she did not yet know how. She would not lose Cort again. Her son would not ruin his own life. A middle ground would be attained this time.

"Chance, there is something that I have to tell you. Something you should have known years ago. This will shock you and make you feel worse than you do already but ...you've killed a man...accident or not. You are a man...even if parts of you are still a boy. I need you to be a man for me now and you need to know the truth..." she paused, took his hand in hers and continued... "I once knew a boy like you who killed a man and it set his life on a downward spiral. Cort knows the dangers and seeks to protect you from what happened to him...you see, a long time ago, when I was a young girl...." And he sat there his mouth hanging open just like when she had told him tales as a little boy, while he listened to the story of her life and his birth and the father he had never known he had.

"So...I heard you were reformed...preacher man, sheriff...heard a few things...so what brings you back to this noble calling of ours?" Pat Geraghty sat at the rough wooden bench and set his tin tray down by Cort's. Cort turned his back slightly and went on eating the slop that passed for sustenance in this place. "Took a vow of silence, did ya?"

Cort looked at him and did not respond.

"Well, maybe I don't need no talk from you. See, I know what's been going on. You been riding with the Munroe gang, ain't ya? At least, that's who they used to be. Till they got the bright idea of calling themselves Herod's old boys. See, I figured that when some stupid prick told his victims, 'My name's Cort- used to ride with John Herod out of Redemption, Arizona,' I just assumed that he was using a false name to muddy the trail. Now, either he was...and you is innocent...or he wasn't...and you are a fool. Never took you for a fool, but hey, what do I know?"

Cort threw down the hard corner of rye bread he was holding. "You say some guy used my name?"

"How else they know'd it was you? Rumour says he's about your build and got long hair. Sounded like you. But then...wouldn't take much to grow your hair now would it, preacher?"

It made sense. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. Not that it changed much- he was still wanted for murder even if the train robberies continued.

"So...you just gonna sit there and let them set you up? Turn the other cheek, hey preacher man? The good Lord gonna reward you in Paradise? That what you believe? Dumb fuck. You'll burn in hell along with Herod and all the others- you shot a priest. You killed dozens of men. Don't change nothing...you is still scum, just like we are- 'cept you are gonna hang. Me? I got a couple of years and I'll be out. Got a girl waiting on you? Heard you were courting some lady down in Redemption. Want me to look her up when I get out of here and keep her warm at night while you are lying in your cold, cold grave?"

Cort stood up and rammed his fist into the face of the grinning Geraghty who fell back at his sudden assault. Guards pounced, pounding clubs into Cort's head and back as they dragged him away and threw him into solitary. He preferred it there. It was better than having to socialise with those animals.

"Hey...wake up...you got visitors." Cort was woken from a dead sleep by the foot of a guard slamming into his thigh. He was lying on a thin filthy stained bedroll on the floor of the solitary cell. It had no light and he had no means of knowing if it were night or day. Raising himself unsteadily, running a hand through the greasy strands of his hair, he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Visitor? What do you mean?"

"Seems like you got some friends who are concerned about your welfare. Ain't that sweet? Now get going..."

Shambling down the dark, dank corridor, pushed and prodded by his brutal custodian, Cort limped towards the light ahead. His leg was still sore from the violent beating he had received at the hands of the guards the day he had hit Geraghty and he was aware that his face and body were still a mass of bruises and dried blood. God alone knew what he looked like. He prayed that this visitor was not Hope. He could not bear the thought of her seeing him like this. He could not bear the thought of her seeing him at all.

He was steered into a cell with a table and a few chairs set out- there were two guards, one at the door and one by the table. Sitting there was Hope and Doc Wallace. Cort steeled himself before entering.

Hope rose to her feet with shock when she saw Cort drag himself in. She had prepared herself for the worst but it was even worse than that. He was filthy, a mass of cuts and bruises, one cheek swollen, an eye closed, hair greasy and matted with clumps of dried blood. His beard was dirty and unkempt and his clothes were torn. She thought he looked as if he had lost weight, was dragging his left leg awkwardly and he stank. It broke her heart to see the shame in his eyes that he should stand before her like this.

With a sudden dart, she ran to him and embraced him, unconcerned for the state of degradation he was in. "Cort...my love...what have they done to you?" She kissed him but the guard dragged her away and pulled her back to her chair.

"Sit down or you leave."

Cort held up a hand and took a chair across the table from the two of them. The doctor gave him the advantage of his professional eye. "I have to examine this man- he is in need of medical attention. I have a letter of authority from the Warden that gives me the authority to carry out this task." The guard looked at the letter and shrugged.

"Here- in full view- no private treatment."

The doctor lifted his bag onto the table and indicated that Cort should stand and take a perch on the table top. "Maybe Miss Johnson, you would like to stand outside? I need for the sheriff to remove his clothes," Doc Wallace asked.

Hope shook her head. "I will stay. I need a bowl of water- I've brought a cloth and some soap, a change of clothes...you do your job, doctor, I'll do mine." A guard showed her a large tin bowl and she filled it from a jug, carrying it back to rest it on the table as Cort began to undress, peeling the clothes stiff with the dirt of weeks from his body.

With his shirt and under vest removed, the evidence of the brutality of his captors was clear- he was heavily bruised and looked as though he had a few cracked ribs and bruised kidneys. Hope tried not to let the state he was in show in her face as she washed him down and cleaned him up. All the while, he stood silently, watching her, mute, as she tended to his wounds.

Taking a comb, she brushed back his hair and eased out the knots in it, wiping  his face with a cloth and cleaning him as best as she could. When he was dry, the doctor gave an examination and bound his ribs tight in a clean bandage, giving him as much comfort as he could although he knew it wasn't much.

"I need to see that leg, Cort, I need your pants off," the doctor muttered. Hope went to undo his belt but, for the first time, Cort demurred.

"No, turn round, honey." He couldn't let her first sight of his nakedness be like this- nor was he sure that he could have controlled his desire had she touched him. He longed for her and the memory of her was all that kept his soul alive these dark days and nights. But to think that the tyranny of his manhood might be revealed in this foul place and to the mockery of the guards was more shame than he could rightly bear at the moment.

Hope obeyed him without question, standing by the door with her back turned as he struggled to peel off the tight pants and the stained undergarment. The doctor sat him down and looked at the leg- he was concerned that the injury might have clotted and cause him some serious trouble but although there was evidence of severe bruising and probably torn muscles, he was satisfied that it would mend in time. The doctor tried not to think on the irony of his thoughts - that Cort would most likely be dead before the leg was mended. He applied a salve and bandage then told Cort to stand while he cupped his scrotum, asked him to cough, saw him wince and break into a rough hacking. He had bruised genitals as well as the kidney damage and by the sound of his chest some sort of infection.

But he was not in any imminent danger, so Wallace told him to dress. Cort stopped, picked up the wedge of soap and washed down his private parts, ignoring the smirks of the guards as he performed this intimate cleansing. When he had finished, he dried and put on the clean pants that Hope had brought with her. "It's OK, Hope, I'm decent now. She turned and smiled at him as he shrugged on the shirt and began to button up.

"He's been beaten but he'll live," Doc Wallace pronounced. "Cort, I'm going to be checking on you regularly now. Penal regulations say you are allowed medical treatment and I intend to make sure you get it. I'll be outside, Miss Hope, when you're finished." He packed up his bag and waited for the guard to unlock the door before going out.

Hope sat down and motioned for Cort to join her at the table. They both ignored the guards; he took her hand and held it in his.

"Cort...you're innocent. We all know that. Chance and I have talked, you understand...?"

"NO!" Cort raised his voice; Hope squeezed his hand in warning. "Don't do anything, Hope. You and Chance stay out of this..."

"Listen carefully, Cort. Things can be done. Things are being done and no one will be hurt, I promise you. But I need for you to help me. I think someone has been pretending to be you when they have robbed those trains- have you any idea who it might be?"

Cort nodded his head. "I know. Some one in here said. But I don't know who it was..."

Hope jumped on that fact. "Someone inside knows something? It's possible, isn't it? These kinds of things would be known by other criminals...Cort, you have to find out what you can...you just have to..."

Cort threw back his head and stared at the ceiling. "What's the use, Hope? Don't matter if I'm innocent of that...it's the shooting that's gonna hang me. Don't waste your time on me. I'm sorry, darlin', sorry I ever came into your life. I've done nothing but hurt you but this time, I will put it right. It's better this way. As long as you and Chance are OK. It's like-I messed up real good, when I was just a boy like Chance. But, I'm gonna make sure he gets the chance to be the man I never could be. That way it makes it all worth it, don't you see? It makes sense of the whole damn thing..."

Hope shook her head sadly. "No...no...that's all wrong. I won't have you talking like that. You are a good man. An innocent man. Please. Cort, don't give up on me now...I want you to do something for me. I need you to find out anything about these outlaws who've been stopping trains. Get me a name...see if some one inside knows something that can lead us to them..."

"I'm still on a murder charge...don't make no difference..."

"Just do it for me, Cort...for me...can you do that, honey...please?" Hope gripped his hand and caught his eyes in hers; he nodded slowly, still unconvinced, but she knew he would not let her down. "I'll be back in a day or so. I'll bring more food and clean clothes. Your trial starts in two weeks. I'm getting a lawyer for you..."

"I won't speak. I don't want no lawyer. I'm pleading guilty. Won't change my mind..."

Hope leaned forward. "You will have a lawyer and he will fight for you. I know what you have to do. I know why you have to do it. But we are not bound by your rules. Have you ever heard of a character called Sydney Carton?"

Cort shook his head. "Who is he?"

Hope smiled sadly. "He is you. One day I will let you read his story. But I will not let you share his fate. You are not in need of redemption. He was." She stood up, aware that the guards were hovering. "I'll be back soon. There's food in the basket and a Bible. Be strong!" She kissed him quickly; a guard pulled her away roughly. Cort met his eyes and the man let her go. Even in this state, he carried with him an air of authority and power that was unmistakeable.

"I don't want you coming back. I hate you to see me like this. Like a dog," Cort swallowed and she could hear the break in his voice. In a way her presence made it harder for him.

"I know- but I will still be back. I won't let you go through this alone."

He closed his mouth and nodded and then suddenly: "Chance? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. Now that he knows everything. Everything, Cort... and he is so proud. You understand? So proud of you."

She walked past him towards the cell door and laid a hand gently on his face. "I love you, Joshua," she whispered as she stepped over the metal rim and joined the doctor to make their way out of that dark place back into the sunlight. Neither of them spoke or voiced their fears. There was no need to go over what they had witnessed or discuss the coming events. They were both fully aware of how slim was his chance and how much rested on their efforts over the next few weeks.

Cort returned to his cell and helped himself to the food that she had brought him, determined that he would bear whatever came his way as bravely as he could. Kneeling, he joined his hands in prayer over the Bible she had brought for him. He prayed. For Hope. For Chance. For strength. And in thanks. For he knew now that the Lord had given him tasks to complete and this was the one for which he had been born. To save a boy from evil so that he did not become a man such as he himself had done. A life for a life. It had a resonance of justice that appealed to him.