A few days later, Cort was released from solitary and he rejoined the main prison. This time he was more ready to socialise. On the first day out, he ambled over to the man who had given him a cup of coffee when he first came in. He sat down by him, said good morning and struck up a conversation.

"You had enough of being on your lonesome, now? Not so big as you thought you was, eh?" the man cackled. "Name's Pike. I know who you are. Everyone knows. You're Cort, the gunfighter. Not so hot without a pistola in your hand, are ya?"

Cort forced a smile. "Hey, everyone gets caught in the end. But I'm mighty pissed. Some fools been robbing trains claiming to be me. I don't like that. I want to know who- just in case I get out of here..."

Pike laughed cruelly. "Get out of here? You a fool, boy! You're gonna twist in the wind and we gonna watch. Everyone's looking forward to the show."

Cort grimaced. "I still got friends. They don't take too kindly to being made a fool of. What do you know? Give me a few names and I'll mention it to my boys. Could be worth your while when you get out of here..."

He saw the wheels turning in the man's shifty eyes. Pike looked about him and lowered his voice. "You know a bandido by the name of Wells?"

"Jacob Wells?" Cort replied. He remembered the boy well. Fancied himself as a fast gun but had the sense to know his limitations. Wells had styled himself on Cort as a kid but Cort had refused to let him come hang round and be some kind of lackey. He had never liked the idea of that and the boy had been offended. Last thing he had heard he'd wandered down to Texas and was with some outfit there. Made sense.

"Last thing I knew he was in El Paso," Cort murmured.

"Yeah? Well, I heard that they got themselves some place across the border out of Juarez. That's where they been counting their money. Stream of whores been making their fortune back and forth on the proceeds of their good luck," he chuckled at his imagined wit.

"That so?" Cort whispered, half to himself and let the older man ramble on. It was a name. Unlikely anyone would take much notice of him but what the hell? At least he could deny that charge and raise the finger of suspicion against Wells- he doubted if the gang would be stopping their thieving now they thought they were home and dry.

Mattie Silk smoothed down the fabric of the new gown and tossed back her freshly curled locks. She looked good, better than she had ever looked before. The dress, a deep rose pink with real French lace trimming the low necked bodice, was the most expensive thing she had ever owned or ever dreamed to own. All her life, since she was barely a woman, she had sold her body to make her own way. Today she was about to do something quite different- about to sell her body to save another person. She felt it was the first noble thing she had ever done and the dress was just the extra touch to her sense of worth.

Stepping down from the stage coach, she called a boy to carry her valise to the saloon and with an audience of startled onlookers who had rarely ever seen anything like this smart and beautiful lady, she strutted over to the swing doors, throwing them back and making an entrance. All eyes in the dim and drab cantina turned on this vision of loveliness. Striding over to the bar, she ordered a glass of port wine and stood there sipping it, leaning back. Suddenly she raised her voice and addressed the room, "Anyone here seen a gunslinger called Cort?"

There was a silence and then a voice emerged from a group of men gathered round a poker game in one corner. "Who's asking?"

"I am."

"And who are you?"

"I'm Mattie Silk. That no good man of mine been claiming he was broke all these years and now I hear he's been robbing trains and hanging out here with his gang. I want to find him and get me my share. I've been giving it him for free for years- 'bout time he paid me for it!"

A ripple of amusement rose from the men present.  A young man, with unkempt chestnut hair and bright blue eyes stood up and threw in his hand. "What makes you think this here Cort is with us?"

Mattie threw back her head and laughed. "Everyone knows this is where the Cort boys are holed up. They're famous- didn't you know that?"

The young man grinned and turned to his friends. "You hear that boys- we is famous!" The men hooted and stamped their feet, pouring out more liquor and swigging it back. Their young leader meanwhile made his way to the lady at the bar. "So, you're Cort's whore, are ya?"

"I'm no whore. I'm a respectable woman," Mattie smiled knowingly, eyeing up the handsome young man. "And where is the bastard?"

"I'm Cort. So...you gonna give me a free one?" The man grinned and ran his hands lightly down her slender frame. Mattie pouted.

"You ain't Cort. You're prettier."

"Cort's gone and got hisself arrested, honey- he ain't coming back. I'm the man with the money now. Want to try me out- seeing as you came such a long way and all... Jacob Wells, Ma'am, at your service..."

Mattie giggled and played with a curl of her hair. "Now, there's an offer! You say they locked him up? You sure? I don't want him coming after me later- he's a mighty jealous man..."

Wells slipped his arm round her waist and pulled her close, whispering in her ear. "Oh, he's not coming back. Nothing to fear, little darlin'...you want to come upstairs and I'll show you how much better I am with a gun than he is?"

Mattie let him lead her by the hand up the stairs, making eyes at the other members of his gang who were hooting from the card table. He kicked open a door to a room and bowed flamboyantly to let her in; Mattie obliged. Wells sat down on a chair and motioned with his finger in a circle, "Take the dress off, honey, and let me see what you got..."

Mattie stood by the window and pulled off her wrap; she flung it carelessly so it draped out of the open window before she began to pop the buttons of her dress one by one Wells stared at her, his eyes firmly on the prize, as he drank steadily from a bottle of whisky....

It was only a short while later when Jacob Wells was firmly hilted in Mattie Silk's obliging little snatch that Abe Wilson, formerly a rider with the Herod gang and now odd job man round Redemption, climbed through the window marked by the bright pink silk wrap; it took seconds for him to overpower and tie up the young man still caught up in his amorous adventure. Wells was lowered down from the window to the group of waiting men below and minutes later was thrown over a horse and ridden out of town, heading for the border.

Barnabas Modine was taking dinner at the Yellow Rose café across the room from his boarding house in Abilene. He was feeling the usual urge coupled with satisfaction at his recent and celebrated arrest. First fill his belly. Then a trip to a cathouse and empty his balls. He smiled with pleasure at his recent success.  It would increase his reputation for always getting his man - even if he knew full well that the evidence on this case was unsound. Personally he doubted whether Cort had done the killing and he knew that he was no train robber. Didn't matter anyhow. Results. That's what counted. Cort was guilty of plenty in his past- so what matters if he gets his reward in the end? That sort of moral issue would never disturb such a man as Modine.

After a hearty stew, he settled down with a pot of coffee and had a cigar. Across the room, he noticed a pretty dark haired woman sitting alone at a table, giving him the eye. She didn't seem like a whore but she was definitely looking at him in a way that a decent woman would not do. Looking about him, he saw that no one was paying much attention, so picking up his coffee cup, he carried it over to the table.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I couldn't help but notice that you are dining alone tonight. I was thinking you might appreciate some company. A solitary woman can attract the wrong sort of attention, if you follow my meaning. Would you accept my protection?"

The lady shot him a flirtatious glance. "Why, sir, I would be most obliged. You never know what might happen to a woman travelling alone these days and I feel strangely secure in your presence. Please sit down and tell me about yourself!"

He talked at length, building up his career and making himself quite the hero, while his pretty companion simpered and preened at his stories. She said she was a widow, a Mrs. Pearly Smith, on her way to visit her sister in Tucson, that she was rather lonely these days and wondered where all the good men had gone to, asking smartly whether there was a Mrs. Modine. There wasn't. He noted her satisfied smile.

"So...this Cort...you say that he killed a bounty hunter sent to bring him in? What manner of man was this Nathaniel Cooper, the dead man?"

Modine shrugged. "He was no better than he should have been. These bounty hunters are as bad as the men they go after. I don't mind saying that there was a few bounties on his head in others states but he served his purpose. Some say he had made enemies- sold his former gang out in Colorado. If Cort hadn't got him then I reckon his old pals would have sooner or later..." Modine reckoned that was what did happen. Cort was smart enough not to have led the trail back to him and anyway had no reason to kill him. There was no real evidence to link him to the robberies- eye witnesses would most probably have not identified him. But Modine's tongue was loose, he said more than he usually admitted and for once he let his guard down.

Shortly afterwards, Modine settled the lady's bill and was ushering her out of the restaurant with a hand surreptitiously on her waist. Pearly Smith looked up at him and gave him a smouldering look. "I'm no whore, Mr Modine, but I am no innocent girl either. I know my worth. Maybe you'd like to get to know it too?" It was an open offer and he took it hook, line and sinker. They made their way to his room, ignoring the sour look the woman from the boarding house gave him as he led a young woman up the stairs.

Once inside, he quickly pushed her against the door and kissed her roughly, while fumbling with her skirt, raising it up to pull down her pantaloons. "Mr. Modine! Just a moment!" Pearly shouted, struggling to get away from him.

Modine was little interested in her complaints. She'd offered, he was taking. Any woman goes to a man's room same night he meets her, deserves no better. He was a God fearing man and had no time for sluts. They got what they deserved. Forcefully slamming her back against the wall, he ripped at her bodice, tearing off some buttons and baring her breasts. "You do as you're told, girl, and I won't hurt you. But I want a good fucking tonight and this is for starters..." One hand ran up her thighs and parted her legs while the other opened his buttons to get his cock out. Pearly gasped...

"Step away, sir...step away...I got a 45 pointed at your head and I know how to use it..." Modine spun round, grabbing to cover his groin where he was exposed. There was a young boy facing him, just inside the open door, with a gun raised and cocked.

"Who the fuck are you, boy?"

"Don't matter who I am...just let the lady go. She don't want this." Modine let her go and Pearly moved away straightening her skirts and fastening up the front of her dress. When she had stepped out of the door, Chance Johnson kicked it closed behind him. He advanced on Modine, who cowered against the wall hands up, begging now. Raising the gun, Chance took aim and the barrel clicked. Empty. Modine collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

"The rest are loaded. You leave my sister alone, you scum. I should shoot your fucking balls off. Count yourself lucky..." He backed out and ran down the stairs to where Hope was waiting. They hurried off through the night to their hotel room across town. He held her hand tight and said nothing, aware that she was embarrassed at what he had seen. Only when they were safe in the confines of their room did she raise the issue.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Chance. I thought he would take his time..."

Chance shrugged. "Guess a man don't need to in those circumstances. Just glad I was close behind. You all right? Did he hurt you?" He rested a hand on her shoulder and she felt amazed by the sudden feeling that her baby was a man now; it almost seemed as though Cort were there with her. Tears pricked her eyes.

"I'm fine. He didn't really do anything. Chance, why did you close the door?"

Chance looked sidewards at her in a look so reminiscent of his father. "Just wanted to make a few things clear to him, that's all."

Hope nodded and didn't pursue the issue. "I was wrong about guns, Chance. If Cort hadn't taught you how to look after yourself then you wouldn't have been able to save me then..."

"I wouldn't have shot a man either. I didn't learn everything right that Cort tried to teach me..."

This time Hope stood up and pulled him into her arms. "Who knows what would have happened? They were after Cort one way or another and would probably have set him up some other way. Cooper was a bad man. Now, I don't say that gave you the right to kill him, but he is no loss to the world and you did not mean to do it. Maybe I'm just making excuses, I don't know, but I will not lose you to a mistake. And I will not let Cort die for men like Cooper and Modine." She spoke with a fierce determination that made Chance so proud of her. His mother. It was going to take some getting used to. They clung to each other and hugged before she broke away and told him they'd better turn in for the night. They had an early start and a lot more to accomplish before this was finally over.

Jonathan Hawkins arrived in Tucson as soon as he possibly could, considering the difficulty of explaining his absence to Mr. McIntyre, his boss, and to Flora, his wife, the boss's daughter. But he wasn't an up-and-coming defence attorney for nothing and he soon sweet-talked both into seeing that this unusual brief might have a certain publicity for the legal firm if he managed to pull it off.

It was an appealing notion for a city lawyer to try his hand against the gun law that seemed to be preferred out west. Reformed gunslinger with a now virtuous reputation is framed for a murder and a series of train robberies by enemies as yet unknown. Or gunslinger uses the gullibility of a town to hide his real profession - armed robber- and is forced to shoot the one man who comes to reveal the truth. Whatever, it was an amusing diversion and he knew several ways he might play this one. But it wasn't just a matter of the entertainment value of such a bizarre adventure; Jonathan had another reason for his eagerness. A long time ago he had tried to court the genteel and lovely Miss Clara McDougall and, although she had let him down gently, they had remained friends. The letter she had written to him begging for his services had intrigued him on a number of levels.

He couldn't deny he wanted to see her again and find out for himself how this daring move she had made to run a frontier newspaper had turned out. Then there was the matter of why she insisted on being known by a pseudonym- Hope Johnson. Where had that come from? But most compelling of all was the fact that this ex-shootist was her affianced. Clara had turned down half of the eligible men of Boston or so it seemed- what possible attraction could a reformed outlaw have for such a lady?

When she had written, she had little but the bare facts of the case to offer him except that she insisted that her man was innocent of all charges. Clara had said by the time he arrived she would have all the information that he needed and proof to exonerate Cort.  Hawkins doubted that, but it wasn't always strictly necessary anyway. The law was a flexible tool rather than a fixed idea and innocence and guilt were only terms for whether you were able to prove reasonable doubt or probable cause and convince a gullible jury. He rarely worried himself about the consequences of his actions. If the wrong man was indicted or a guilty man walked free then that was not his concern- the case had to be made, for the judgement could only be given on what was proffered. The lawmakers had to do their job better if they had left the system too full of holes for men like him to exploit.

Hawkins was not a bad man, nor was he exceptional moral- he was neither a hero nor a villain. For him, life was a matter of making your way with what you had. He was attractive, intelligent and well-spoken. He rarely offended and was prepared to make up to the men and women who mattered in society. His chosen bride was a personable young woman, quite to his taste, but it was her father's law firm which he eyed with more passion. But everyone was served by his presence and no one suffered - so what was the harm? Yet he still carried the memory of when life had been simpler and he had loved a girl, not for her influence in his career, but for the wild sweeping passion of love. Some unfulfilled romanticism in his nature urged him to make an out-of-character gesture for a woman that he had once cherished and perhaps to make it possible for her to find love at last. He was as unlikely a White Knight as ever rode an iron horse west.

Cort had a visitor. As his trial neared, his treatment had improved; the guards were reluctant for any charges of inhumane treatment to be given credence by the appearance of the unfortunate accused, so Cort looked better now and was allowed to wash and shave regularly. Clean clothes were brought in almost daily and his doctor had seen him several times. It was almost royal treatment in comparison to most inmates.

Hawkins entered the small interview cell where the impressive Cort was sitting quietly, hands bound, feet chained together, his eyes appraising him with an intelligent light. The accused was thirty years old, give or take a year, passably well favoured, broad built and strong looking. His hair was unruly and long, his eyes a startling green and he had an inner peace about him that was almost disturbing. Where Hawkins had imagined an edgy, hopeless man facing death, he saw calm authority and not even a lick of fear. His interest in this man increased.

Cort stood and Hawkins felt dwarfed by him- not because he was taller but because he simply stood tall and exuded power and virility. The accused had a large hand, a firm grip as they shook, and a direct gaze; he spoke in a lazy but articulate drawl. Hawkins realised that he was slightly intimidated by this man whose life he held in the balance. They sat down and he began his interview.

Outlining the situation as he 'knew' it, speaking only of Cort's innocence and the extenuating evidence that would either prove it or at least raise doubts against his accusers, Hawkins embarked upon the responses he expected Cort to make, coaching him in the correct replies and demeanour.

"Can I interrupt you, sir?" Cort politely broke in.

Hawkins nodded assent. 

"I will be saying nothing before the court. No plea. No defence. No attempt to explain. If they call me as a witness, I will say nothing..."

"What? Are you insane? That is contempt of court!" Hawkins insisted.

"So be it." Cort answered, almost dismissively.

Hawkins spoke to him straight. "Do you want to die?"

Cort looked him straight in the eye. "No more than the next man - but one thing's for sure, Mr. Hawkins. We all gonna die one day. Seems like it's better to do it for something that feels right, than wait until you just fade away."

Hawkins looked at his client with bewilderment. "Feels right? What feels right?" He stopped and thought a while. "Is there something I should know here, Mr. Cort?"

Cort smiled sadly. "Why, you seem to know everything already, Mr Hawkins. I leave it all in your capable hands. Good day, sir!" Cort stood up to leave but Jonathan hadn't finished.

"And what about Clara? Or rather Miss Hope? Will it feel right to break her heart when you walk to the gallows? Don't you even care how she has struggled to save you?"

Cort turned and gave Hawkins an impenetrable look. "Miss Johnson knows my decision. I'm grateful for your assistance but I'm afraid I have nothing else to say to you..."

"Are you innocent?" It was a question Hawkins had never once asked a client before. Cort knocked on the cell door and made no response as the guard led him back to his own cell.

The trial was not going well. Cort was refusing to speak and simply said nothing when he was asked to answer the charges, although he did swear on the Bible willingly enough. The judge warned him about contempt of court and told him to think on it. The jury looked suspicious and seemed already to have made up their minds. Hawkins realised that his clever arguments and legal points about no hard evidence, circumstantial assumptions based on a man's past record not being good enough, innocent until proven guilty, cannot be tried for other offences but those named etc., cut little ice with these people. They suffered enough at the hands of outlaws, renegades and lawlessness to have little sympathy with judicial wordplay. Cort was a man with a history of badness and one less criminal was one less criminal- even if he hadn't done anything this time.

At the end of the second day, Hawkins had to admit that he was not going to carry this one, as he had so arrogantly assumed - not without some miracle, anyway. That evening he sat at his desk in his hotel room going over the existing material but, although he figured he could get him off in Boston, it wasn't enough out here. He had better start thinking about some bargaining. Not that he had much hopes of that, either. Cort would not rat on any other men, if he wouldn't even defend himself.

A gentle knock at the door disturbed him. He imagined it was the chambermaid come to turn down his bed. "Come in..." he called.

"...Jonathan! I'm sorry I wasn't here when you arrived..."

He turned in surprise at the familiar voice. "Clara...how wonderful to see you..."

She stepped forward and they embraced warmly. "How's Flora? And the children?"

"Well, all well, I'm glad to say..."

"Thank you so much for taking this case...you don't know what it means to us..."she began.

Jonathan smiled sadly. "Clara...I'm afraid it isn't going well. He won't defend himself, as you warned me, and he is not making a good impression. They'll hang him for sure unless we get some real proof of his innocence. What is his problem, Clara? Is he protecting someone? What reason does he have to be so uncooperative?"

Hope sat down and rested her hands on her lap. "He has his reasons and I cannot explain them, even to you.  But I think I may have something you can use. There are some people who want to see you downstairs in the entrance hall. It might change things..."

It did. Hawkins walked into that court room the next morning with the swagger of victory already in his stride. His first witness was a young woman aged about eighteen, pretty in a pale vapid sort of way.

"You are Miss Charlotte Wilma Farrar of Galveston?"

"Yes sir."

"And on March 18th last you were travelling with your parents between Galveston  and Alvin on the Gulf Colorado & Santa Fe Railroad Company?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me exactly what occurred as you remember it. Take your time..."

The young woman composed herself and began her testimony. "Well.... I remember the train suddenly came to a halt early in the morning. We were in a sleeping compartment. I woke up and sat on the edge of my bunk to talk to my Ma- she was below me. Then all at once these men ran along and herded us out, while they ransacked our belongings. They had guns and they were rough. I was scared. One of them came over to where I was standing. He was like a leader or something. He was very....he said some bad things..."

"I'm sorry, Miss Farrar, but you need to be more precise. What do you mean by bad things? Did he use profanities, cuss words?" Hawkins prodded her.

She shook her head. "No sir."

"Then can you please tell the court what he did say?"

The young woman blushed. "He said...I was mighty pretty and he'd like to see what I was hiding under my nightgown..." She looked down and played with her fingers nervously.

"What did he do then? This is very important, Miss Farrar..."

"He...he pulled open the front buttons of my gown and ....he touched my...my breast...and then he....kissed me." She began to cry quietly. "He molested me."

Hawkins nodded and patted her gently on the arm, giving her time to compose herself. "When you're ready..."

She wiped her eyes and breathed a few times deeply. "Some men came up and told him they found the banknotes. Mr. Cort kissed me again and then he laughed...he said he'd be back for me some day soon, and ran off. Shortly after, they loaded up their saddle bags and rode off." She finished and the courtroom sat in silence, gripped by the pretty young girl's plight at the hands of this foul man.

"You said his name was Mr. Cort. How do you know that?" Hawkins asked quietly.

She looked about her, braver now. "He told me. He said 'Remember my name, sweetheart...Cort...famous sharpshooter and train robber...not to mention, lover of beautiful women...'."

Hawkins paused and let that comment sink in. All the while, Cort had sat impassively listening but now his head was up and he was taking note. "Can you see this Mr. Cort in this room, my dear Miss Farrar?" Hawkins asked gently.

Charlotte looked around gravely. "Why, no sir."

Hawkins went over to where Cort sat in the box. "Stand up, sheriff." Cort stood up.

"Have a good look at this gentleman, Miss Farrar, if you will. Have you ever seen him before?"

Charlotte Farrar looked carefully. "Why no, sir. I have never seen that man before."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes. I am absolutely sure, sir."

Hawkins smiled kindly at her. "This man is Mr. Cort."

She looked surprised. "But he isn't the man who robbed the train! That man was younger. And prettier..." she smiled shyly. A titter of laughter rang out round the courtroom. Even Cort himself grinned at her comment and made a shrug as if to accept her description. It might very well have saved his life.

"Thank you, Miss Farrar. That is all. May I take this opportunity of thanking you for having the courage to speak out in open court about such intimate matters. I know it was very difficult for you."

She nodded shyly and looked over at her parents in the gallery who had watched her every word. The judge called on the prosecutor but he waived questioning. Hawkins returned to his seat, but not before nodding at a man standing by the door to the courtroom who immediately disappeared outside.

The judge indicated that Miss Farrar could step down and she began to make her way across the floor to her seat. As she walked back, the same man re-entered the court, pulling with him a younger man who was handcuffed and looked very unwilling to be there. Charlotte Farrar gasped and said, "That's him!" Her parents jumped to their feet and shouted out too, "That's the man who molested my daughter!"

"What shenanigans are you playing here, Mr Hawkins?" The judge hammered his gavel and called the room to order.

"Why, nothing at all, your honour," Jonathan Hawkins replied smoothly. "This man is Jacob Wells and I have some reason to believe that he may have information to help the marshals with their investigations into the aforementioned train robberies. However, I do not intend to judge a man without benefit of trial, so I merely suggest that he might be questioned, Sir. It appears he also goes by the assumed name of Cort."

The judge gave Hawkins a stern glance but asked that Wells be remanded and removed from his courtroom. "I think I can safely strike the crime of bank robbery from the list of charges in this court. There is no evidence to support this allegation and there is clear proof of mistaken identity. Jury, take note of this amendment. Proceed, Mr. Hawkins, but remember- that was only the lesser charge. Your client's still on a capital indictment for murder."

Hawkins smiled. "Indeed, he is your honour. But this does change the case somewhat. If I may make an interim summation here before I call my next witness?"

The judge nodded.

"We know that the dead man, one Nathaniel Cooper, a bounty hunter, was riding to Redemption presumably to arrest the bank robber Cort and claim the reward on his head. The charge as stands has no evidence to place Sheriff Cort at the scene of the crime other than the circumstantial belief that he killed a man who was hunting him. Let us examine this speculation.  First I would like to remind you about this unusual man before you. Sheriff Cort is a mighty clever fellow. He was once a bad man- he never hides that fact - but for the past two years he has been an exemplary sheriff and leader of the local community. Prior to that, he helped to remove an evil tyrant who had ruled this town for years by fear and intimidation. Before that Cort spent four years as a preacher in a mission across the border. He has an amnesty for his earlier crimes. By the court's own decision we now know he has never returned to a life of crime and is entirely innocent of any recent charges of armed robbery."

"One morning, this fine sheriff takes an early ride out into the desert. After some time, he dismounts and climbs some rocks from where he sees a rider on the plain below. It is some distance away- the evidence given by the undertaker is clear to the nature of the shot and the rifle used. Yet- from a distance of more than a hundred feet- Cort saw a man on a horse (whom he did not know) and somehow figured out that this man had on his person a wanted poster- hidden in his boot- accusing him of a crime which he had no idea had even been committed. So shrewd a man is he, that he took his rifle and shot the man clean dead."

Hawkins gave the courtroom time to digest the incredible premise that he had set before them. A ripple of amusement hovered in the atmosphere; he was right- the notion was preposterous. But Hawkins had not finished.

"Now, what puzzles me even more than this incredible act of perception is that this clever man then carried the body back to town, left the wanted poster for anyone to find and did not even attempt to destroy either that or the rather unusual and distinctive hat that the dead man wore. Either he was suddenly rendered foolish or he was genuinely ignorant that this man had any business with him. Which is it to be? If the latter is the case then why on earth shoot the man? If the former- the why on earth bring him in? Well, we can never know for sure what is in any man's mind- but one thing strikes me as evident. We are here to find whether a man is innocent or guilty and must be absolutely sure of that guilt - or he is innocent. That is the law. We cannot imagine that perhaps he might be. We cannot say- he did bad things before- for they are not the issue here. We have only one question to answer from now on in. Do you believe that Cort had a motive to kill Nathaniel Cooper and, if he had done, would he have behaved in the way that he did with the body? I cannot answer that question for you. You must make up your own minds."

All over the courtroom, heads were nodding in agreement. Much of the momentum of the case was already fading away and suddenly the picture looked very different. At that crucial moment Hawkins made another request. "I call as my next witness, John Johansson."

The witness came in, mounted the box, and was sworn in. It turned out he was a sheriff from Animas City, Colorado. "You are familiar with the dead man, Nathaniel Cooper, sir?"

"I am indeed. He was a regular visitor to my cells. Cooper was a minor criminal all his life, a sneaky lying no-good thief. He made his money any way he could." Sheriff Johansson announced.

"So you are saying that he was often on the wrong side of the law? But, or so we have heard, he was a bounty hunter..."

"They is all the same. Most bounty hunters are as bad as the men they bring in- worse some might say. Turn on their own- and he was the worst example. Cooper is married to a woman whose brothers run a gang in my parts. They robbed a bank and Cooper knew- may even have been one of the gang himself. But he handed them over- his own kin by marriage. That's why he was in Texas- on the run. Those brothers had their friends, and there were people who had threatened Cooper's life. Told him they'd get him wherever he ran."

"Objection. This is hearsay." The prosecution attorney interjected.

The judge leaned over. "How do you know this, Sheriff?"

The sheriff rested his hands on his voluminous stomach and smiled. "I heard it with my own ears the day I arrested the Bailey brothers. The day Cooper took the bounty and hightailed out of Colorado."

The judge nodded. "Objection overruled."

Johansson was a simple man but his testimony was unshakeable. The prosecution could not undermine him. Nathaniel Cooper not only had enemies, as many bounty hunters had, but he had also received a recent and serious threat to his life. The case against Cort had crumbled in a matter of a few hours.

"Mr. Hawkins?" The judge asked, his previous mistrust of the Boston lawyer clearly replaced by a grudging respect.

"I would like to ask for a dismissal of all the charges and a complete acquittal for my client, on the grounds that there is not a single shred of evidence or motive to link him to this murderous act. He was innocent of the charge that Cooper was bringing against him and more importantly was unaware of it. He acted with care for the body- even having it buried publicly (at his own expense no less) when a guilty man could have buried the remains in the desert - and no one would ever have been the wiser. Furthermore, we have established that other persons had a much better reason for shooting Cooper down and leaving his body to rot than the man on trial." All over the room, worthy citizens were nodding their assent. Hawkins continued:

"I believe that we owe this man a great apology for this travesty of justice that has been visited upon him, and for the effect this trial must have had upon his life and that of the town he cares for. He was arrested and taken off in chains in full view of his friends, an ignominious thing for any man to suffer, was then held in foul conditions in the prison here, was beaten severely by warders (and I have medical evidence to prove this, your Honour) not to mention being separated from his fiancée and her brother- a fine boy whom Sheriff Cort has been caring for like a father..." on  and on he went extolling the virtues of Cort until the audience was virtually eating out of his hand. Hawkins finished by bringing in ten gentlemen from Redemption, all upstanding citizens, who had made the journey to stand as character witnesses for the sheriff should it be required of them.

The trial was all but over and the judge declared the acquittal. A roar of approval greeted the decision and people jumped up to applaud. Only Cort himself sat on, his head hung low, appearing not quite to believe the turn out of events. Hope and Chance embraced and the young boy held his mother as she sobbed with relief. A guard opened the chains on Cort's wrists and ankles and indicated he should step down; he appeared almost stunned and uncomprehending.

Hawkins led him off to an anteroom and poured him out a shot of whisky. "Drink this!" Cort downed it and then ran a hand along his face.

"Thank you. I owe you my life," he murmured, still in shock.

Hawkins shook his head. "Not me, sir. It was Clara. She did it all. Don't know how she did it, but she galvanised so many people and found the wherewithal to set you free. That woman loves you, sheriff, and she doesn't give her heart easily. I have personal proof of that myself." He smiled and clapped Cort on the back; they shook hands. "...But I want to ask you one question now that this is all over. Why did you refuse to speak? I don't think you killed him, but I believe you know who did. Whom are you protecting?"

Cort stared straight at him and for the second time Hawkins had the sense that this man of still and powerful authority could, if he wished, be a very dangerous man indeed. "I'm still not talking, sir."

Hawkins shrugged and poured them both another slug. "Well, here's to you and here's to me. We both just had day that we won't forget in a long time."

"Amen to that," Cort answered and the two men drank the toast.

Hope and Cort met each other in the small anteroom off the main courtroom a short while later. Jonathan Hawkins ushered her in, Chance shyly following behind, and the man and woman stared across at each other. Some moments in life are too filled with emotion ever to be conducted in the usual conventions of happiness and celebration. They did not speak. They did not embrace. They merely looked upon each other as the door closed quietly behind them. They were alone but neither even remarked it. No one else existed in the world for them that moment anyway.

Hope moved slowly across the room and stood before him. She saw him watching her, his face still and quiet but his eyes a swirling maelstrom of desire. It felt like staring at a sky before a storm breaks, the awesome beauty and power of wild unconstrained nature unfurling its true self before one's eyes. For the first time in her life, there in that small room, Hope understood the true meaning of passion and its place in the lives of a man and woman. She had so nearly lost him; he had been at the brink of death. His willing sacrifice had been taken on his shoulders without complaint or pity for himself. But now, he was free to embrace life once again and every part of his manliness was screaming out to her womanhood to reaffirm his vitality.

And still they did not speak. 

No words of love. No thanks. No relief. No trite platitudes. Just that look- raw hunger. Only one act could truly speak for what they wished to express.

And then:

"Let's get out of here." Cort whispered as he took her hand in his and pulled her gently to the door. She followed blindly, the touch of his hand already burning through her soul.

Outside, the courtroom was empty save for Chance sitting at the back, playing with the rim of his hat. He looked up at them both and then looked down at his feet, blushing. Something in their expression was clear even to an innocent boy like him.

"I...I...I just had a word with the judge," he stuttered out. "He told me he'd come back at four."

Cort and Hope looked at him bemused. "For what?" Hope asked, the first words she had spoken since the case had been dismissed.

Chance shrugged. "I asked him to marry you. He said he would. Four o'clock."

"What?" Cort replied. "No." He shook his head. "I want to do it properly. Not like this. I want it to be right..."

Hope turned and stopped his words with her finger to his lips. "Four o'clock. That's proper enough for me. I cannot wait. I will not wait. Even a fifteen year old boy can tell we are long past waiting. We'll have our proper wedding day, one day soon. Cort, we did it all the wrong way round. First the baby....then sixteen years later- the honeymoon and in a couple of months...we'll have a real town wedding. I'll wear a fine white dress and you'll wear a city suit and Chance will give me away. But that dress better be a loose one because I intend to be full of your baby when you walk me down that aisle in Redemption, Joshua Kortovsky. So either you make it legal at four o' clock today- or you make a dishonest woman of me again. For I will have you tonight as God is my witness and I will never sleep along again. Do you hear me? Never. Ever. Again..."

Cort paused, a lazy grin stealing over his handsome features -a hint of the devil he had once been with the ladies sneaking through. Chance sniggered and caught his father's eye.

"Well, I'll be back at four then. Think you can occupy yourselves till then?" The boy teased, before slipping out of the empty room.

Cort took Hope by the waist and pulled her to him. "You sure you want this?"

Hope flung her arms round him and raised her lips. "For God's sake kiss me, man, or I may just change my mind. And then you take yourself off somewhere- get a bath, a shave, a change of clothes and you be waiting here for me at four. This time, boy, I'm doing the seducin'- you got that?"

"Yes ma'am," he murmured and bent to kiss her. So soft. So tender. Just an impression of his lips against her mouth - and then he stopped. "...But you're gonna wait until I'm ready. But when I'm ready, I am gonna take you to a place where you have never been. Have you any idea what I am going to do to you tonight, Miss Clara McDougall?"

Hope shivered as his deep husky voice stripped away the last remaining shreds of her resistance. "You better, Joshua Kortovsky. You better make a woman out of me."

Hope sat by the dressing table in the hotel room, brushing her hair and staring at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a simple white nightgown, much as she always did to sleep. Reflected in the mirror, she saw her husband entering the room and linger for a moment before letting the door swing closed behind him. They were alone at last.

The chamber was dimly lit, a lamp by the bed and another by the mirror casting creeping shadows along the walls. Hope watched him as he removed his jacket and then sat on a chair by the side, his face half obscured from her vision, as he bent down to take off his boots. She had never seen a man undress before and watched his movements with a fascination. When he was finished, he stood up, shrugged off his vest and walked towards her, dressed only in his trousers and shirt.

Cort stood and leaned against her back, the hard pressure of his manhood evident already as he bent to gather up her tumbling curls in his left fist and plant a wet kiss on her neck. She felt his tongue trace a pattern to her ear and nibble on the lobe. "I want you," he whispered. She closed her eyes, languor flooding through her body- and trembled at his touch. His hands reached underneath her arms and cupped her breasts.  She gasped and he closed around them, squeezing lightly on her nipples until they peaked for him.

His fingers moved to the buttons of her night gown, still demurely fastened, and he undid them one by one, watching himself in the mirror all the while. Parting the opening, he exposed her, easing off the cotton gown from her shoulders until she was naked to the waist. Her breasts were full and high, nipples pebbled and a blush stealing over her pale flesh. His hands returned to weigh their heft and she sighed at the contrast of his, skin weathered and hairy, against her tender white.

Kneeling down, he placed a kiss on her naked shoulder and then on down her spine until he reached the limit of her body, resting his head against her and his arms wrapped tight about her narrow waist. For long silent moments he remained there as if in prayer. She was his wife, he would honour her with his body, this woman who had given up her life for him in so many ways. He was still unsure whether this was just a dream or if it could be true. "I love you," he muttered against her skin.

Tears pricked at Hope's eyes and ran slowly down her cheeks. She was a writer who made her living from using words, yet tonight she couldn't even find one single thing to say to this man whom she loved so much. Words seemed inadequate. Only one thing would suffice. She wanted to be part of him and for him to be part of her- for always.

Raising herself to her feet, Hope let the gown slip from her body to snake at her feet. Cort touched her naked buttocks and ran his hands down the outside of her thighs, catching the reflection of her front in the mirror before him. She was beautiful, of that he had never doubted, but she was so much more than that to him now. She was his. No one had ever touched her- except for him, once, long ago, a dim memory of a skinny little girl, not hardly even a woman. Now he saw her in her prime- full breasted, slender bellied, the curve of her womanly hips, the dark soft curls about her sex and her long shapely legs. She was ripe for loving; he could almost taste her fecundity. Cort heard himself whimper at the sight and, for a moment, it seemed to him that he had never before beheld a naked woman. In some ways he never had.  Not like this. Not in love. Not in worship. How can a man even begin to explain the difference in his head?

He rose to his feet; she turned and began to unbutton his shirt He stood passively and let her. She pulled it from his shoulders and bared his naked chest, her small slender hands running across his hard, muscular torso, touching every part of him. A quick look into his eyes and she began to move to his belt, unbuckling it and then undoing the buttons of his fly. His breathing changed; she could hear the different rhythm, even as she felt the surge of his penis against the pressure of her hand.

For a moment she paused and then she opened the front flap and dropped his pants to the floor. He was naked beneath. She moaned at the sight of his cock. "I need you," he murmured, circling her hand and wrapping it round his shaft, jerking slowly.

Hope raised her head, her eyes full of wonder at the proof of his awesome masculinity. She had seen the boy and he had scared her; as a man he was beyond belief- but how he thrilled her now. His body, big and solid, muscular and strong, his cock large and thick, his balls heavy and dark, thick chestnut hair, darker than his head, bulging thighs and shapely legs. Magnificent. Male. Her man.

Their lips met and he kissed her. It was not soft or tender but deep and hungry, his tongue burrowing lewdly into her mouth as his turgid cock swelled in her grasp and his hips rocked towards her. She sucked hard on him and felt the gush of wetness trickle down her inner thighs. It did not make her feel embarrassed; she knew this was right and true and what women did when their animal nature was allowed to run free with the man who was meant for them.

Desire coursed through her and vague images of what she wanted flitted unbidden across her brain. An urge to spread and open, arch and rise possessed her. Her fingers tightened their grip instinctively; he eased her away and hoisted her up, their mouths still locked. Hope wrapped her legs around his waist and he carried her to the bed, where they tumbled and lay side by side, stroking each other in the soft lamplight.

He parted her legs and she watched as he looked and touched, slicking his fingertips in her cream and raising then to his lips to lick her juices. It made her ache for more. She played with his cock and tasted the clear fluid that dripped from the tip onto her forefinger. He inserted his finger into her and she writhed against it, groaning. She cupped his balls and rolled them as he parted his legs to let her see. Neither of them was in a hurry to get to any place, aware that they had their lives before them. Tonight was a feast for their senses, a lesson in discovery. They knew each other so deeply as people already. Now they opened up their bodies and gave that final knowledge to each other. The ultimate gift of love.

Cort held her legs wide open and gazed on her; loved her with his tongue, brought her to wild, screaming orgasm as he licked and sucked and kissed, her hard pearl in his lips as his fingers explored her vagina. Hope knelt before him and suckled on his cock, rejoicing in the taste, smell and feel of a man between her lips. And then when they had looked and touched and tasted and experienced each other enough, she lay before him and he covered her. For one instant her mind flashed back to the only other time that she had known a man and she tensed against the remembered pain as he pushed his tip into her wet, weeping hole.

He thrust gently and she felt him slip inside. He was hard and hot. It was a tight fit- but there was no pain this time -just a sensation of being full, and a burning need to take him deeper still. Hope raised her legs instinctively in a crude fashion and placed her feet on his hipbones. He lunged further, less gentle now and she felt him hilt and the kiss of his cock hard against her womb. It was enough; both could take no more. She slithered her legs around to hug him close and he banged harder and harder against her as he rutted, his fingers interlaced with hers above her head, his body flexed and rippling with muscles, her body arched and writhing with pleasure, their eyes enraptured by the naked beauty of the other in the moment of their coming.

One anguished sigh and she called his name, "JOSH...!!!!" He echoed with a deep groan and then his body convulsed as he shuddered his essence deep within her in warm thick waves. He slumped against her, his body wet with sweat, and she held him close as he rocked and trembled in her arms. He was a young boy again, deep in his coming, oblivious of anything but the driving force of his virility and the shattering weakness of aftermath. Hope was stunned- by her own body's natural response to the man she loved and the pleasure he gave her, but also by the shattering effect of his completion. She wrapped him in her arms and held him to her breast.

And he cried.

He couldn't stop. As his semen trickled down her thighs, his tears fell down onto her breast. The pain of all he had ever suffered flowed from him and away. He was alive. He was free. He was home. God had forgiven him.

"Why am I called Joshua, Maman?"

"Joshua is another name for Jesus. God's chosen one."