Once Upon A Time in the Future by BillA1
Copyright September 2007

 Disclaimer: The characters Batman, Green Lantern, Hawkgirl, Cinnamon, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Superman & Flash and their respective secret identities are all owned by DC Comics. This story is intended for my own pleasure and is not for profit. It has been posted to this site for others to read. Places and characters not own by DC are my own creation. This story is based on characters from the animated Justice League series episode: Epilogue written Bruce Timm and Dwayne McDuffie and Ancient History by Dwayne McDuffie. Note: Spoilers up through Destroyer. Set after Destroyer and before the Batman Beyond time period. This R 'Verse tale is a sequel to "Aftermath: The Beads on the String." "The R 'Verse" is copyright 2006. My sincere thanks to Merlin Missy for her very helpful comments on the first draft of this story.

A/N: This story was inspired by an email exchange with Merlin Missy during May 2006

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Once Upon A Time in the Future

A Justice League Unlimited - R 'Verse Story
Rating: (PG-13)

Synopsis: After Egypt, but before the Imperium, there may have been Adella, Texas. A John /Shayera futurefic.

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Preface

Just suppose eight thousand years ago, two souls were violently separated and have spent millenniums searching through time and space to find each other again.

Sometimes the souls never met in their respective reincarnated lifetimes. Other times they did meet, but the circumstances wouldn't allow them to be together - or to stay together. Often, they might see one another and recognize the other at the subconscious level, but were like ships passing in the night; doing nothing more than acknowledging each other presence and continuing to move on to wherever that life might take them.

But throughout time, as the souls sought to find each other and stay together long enough to complete the unfinished business they started eight thousand years ago, they would remember each previous encounter. They would remember each other.

Just suppose Cicero was right when he said, "The soul in sleep gives proof of its divine nature."

Just suppose...

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CHAPTER ONE
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"Journey... I think. And the mark on the side means conclusion ... the end of a long journey?" - (Shayera explaining ancient Thanagarian markings to Carter Hall - Shadow of the Hawk)

 

(34 years after Toyman kills Rex Mason )

The morning sunlight leaked through the drawn curtains of their Metrotower quarters and insisted on getting the sleeping woman's attention. She lay on her stomach and flexed her shoulders, grunting with each slight movement, before extending her wings in an effort to fully awake.

Shayera Hol took a deep breath before slowly turning over to sit up. She was surprised to find John already awake and sitting up, in a curled up position in the bed. Even in the dim light, she could see he looked worried.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Anything wrong?"

It had been a little more than a year since she and John Stewart had been thrown forward in time more than thirty years by the Toyman's tachyon energy beam. It was only because Metamorpho had fatally absorbed so much of the weapon's energy, they hadn't been thrown thirty thousand years forward as Superman had once been.

At first, there had been problems adjusting to their new environment. People and friends they'd known earlier were suddenly gone, dead or retired. They'd unexpectedly found themselves to be strangers in a strange land.

But they had adapted. Shayera had created a new identity as Warhawk enabling her to wear a mask again. John also wore a mask now and had been temporarily assigned as the Green Lantern for this sector. This allowed them to maintain the illusion that the Thanagarian, Shayera Hol, and the Green Lantern, John Stewart, had died fighting the remnants of the Legion of Doom years earlier.

It had been just under a year since they'd become lovers again; just over nine months since they moved in together and just five days since Shayera told John she was pregnant.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "I'm okay." She could tell he wasn't.

She brought her knees to her chest, mimicking his sitting position and then leaned forward and extended her wing so that it gently caressed John's back. He smiled. "I had the strangest dream last night," he said as he turned to look at her.

She gave him a devilishly grin. "So, was I in it and did we have fun?"

She had thought he would smile at her question, but he didn't and instead was silent for a moment. "Well, yes and no," he finally said. "Actually, I'm not really sure."

"You're not sure that a woman with wings was in your dreams?" she smirked. "That must have been some dream, mister. Care to share?"

"I mean I think you were in it," he said somewhat defensively, "but you didn't have wings. It was such a weird dream, too." He flashed a smile that rapidly faded as he added, "But then, I've been having a lot of weird dreams lately since you told me I'm going to be a father." He paused. "It's just that this dream seemed so real."

"Oh," she said not really sure how she should feel about not having wings in John's dream. For a brief moment, she wondered if John subconsciously wanted to be with an Earth woman again. She knew Mari was no longer a threat to their relationship, having married and raised a family of her own after John was thought dead more than thirty years ago. But maybe John's dream meant he wanted to be with a woman without wings or -- maybe one who wasn't pregnant. She'd talk to him about this later.

"So I was a human woman, huh?" She paused. Her eyes widened as she had a thought. "I was a woman, wasn't I?"

"Yes, smart butt! You were a woman. You want to hear my dream or not?" He arched an eyebrow and half-smiled.

"Go ahead," she said as she leaned forward again and hit him gently with her wing. "I'm listening."

He sighed and frowned. "As I seem to recall, it occurred in the old American west; in a town I think was named Adella ...."

(Adella, Texas - September 1884)

There was something to be said about sitting on the sidewalk watching people go by. After a while you learn to read people and what you see tells you volumes more than what they say.

Warren McAdams was an old civil war veteran, as were most of the men in the town of Adella. And as most had, he'd fought for the Confederacy and was proud of it. It had been a warm day and he thought a beer would taste good about now. Warren leaned back in his chair outside the entrance to the Harley House, a boarding house with a restaurant on the lower floor. It was across the street from the Moonglow Saloon, the only saloon in the town.

Yeah, a beer would taste good right now. But it was too early for a drink. Maybe he could find a poker game he could get into. As he stood to cross the street, he noticed a colored man riding into town on a beautiful big red chestnut horse with a white blaze on its head. The man was leading a faded grey horse carrying a white man with his hands tied to the saddle horn. Warren ran down the street to get the sheriff.

It took Warren about ten seconds to tell the sheriff what he saw and two seconds before the sheriff ran out of his office and up the middle of the street to block the colored man's horse.

"What's the meaning of this, boy?" the sheriff snarled.

The colored rider silently dismounted. He was wearing a fine black slouch hat with its wide brim turned up slightly in the front, white shirt and a black leather jacket with a badge on it. He wore two guns with the handles pointing out and had on a pair of shiny tan calfskin boots. To Warren, the hat and boots were sure signs of money and he decided he didn't like this uppity colored man at all.

A crowd gathered in the street circling the two horses, riders and the sheriff. The rider said, "The name is Amos Blackshear. I'm a deputy marshal working for Judge Isaac Parker out of Fort Smith." He pointed to the silver six-pointed star on his jacket. Then he pointed to the man on the faded gray. "Sheriff, this man is Tom Redding, wanted for bank robbery in Tulsa and he's my prisoner. I need you to lock him up for the night. I'm prepared to pay you for your help."

The sheriff was tight lipped as he frowned. "Well, 'Deputy Marshal' Amos Blackshear, we'll talk about locking up this man and payment after I see a warrant."

The colored man reached into his left shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and gave it to the sheriff. Warren looked at the white man tied to the horse and thought he'd seen him somewhere before. Suddenly he was able to put the name with the face and his jaw dropped.

The sheriff studied the paper and looked at the white man on the horse. "Is this you?" the sheriff asked.

The man on the horse didn't say anything as he looked down at the ground and nodded. The sheriff gave the warrant back to the colored marshal. "My office is down the street. I'll meet you there after I disperse this crowd." The marshal nodded, silently mounted his horse and led his prisoner down the street.

The sheriff made a motion with his arms. "It's all legal, folks. Everyone go about your business. There's nothing to see here."

As the crowd started to thin, Warren approached the sheriff. "Did he say his name was Tom Redding?"

"That's what the warrant said. Now go home."

"Then that's him. You know it is," Warren protested.

"I know nothing of the sort," the sheriff snarled, "and listen to me, nether do you. I want to you to keep this to yourself. You hear me?"

"I hear you, Sheriff," Warren said quietly. But as he watched the sheriff walk back to his office, Warren turned to go find Mister Lomax.

 

Amos Blackshear climbed down off his horse, tied both horses to the hitching post in front of the building and then helped his prisoner climb down.

As he approached Amos, the sheriff said before opening his office, "You couldn't have picked a worst town to come to, son." Amos removed his rifle from his saddle scabbard.

"It's Deputy or Marshal, Sheriff," Amos said as he guided his prisoner up the steps.

The sheriff looked at him hard. It was a stare that Amos had seen throughout his lawman career and this old sheriff's gawk wasn't any different. After a moment, the stare eased ever so slightly as the sheriff said somewhat grudgingly, "Come inside ... Marshal."

Once inside, the sheriff took a large key ring off a wooden peg near his desk, walked to the back of the office and opened a large wooden door using one of the keys on the ring. Behind the door were two empty jail cells. The sheriff opened the first cell and as Redding entered, the sheriff said, "Bet you never thought you'd end up back here, did you, boy?"

Redding said nothing as he was locked in. "Stick your hands through the bars," Amos said. Redding did so and Amos removed his handcuffs, then followed the sheriff out to the main office.

Once the sheriff sat down at his desk, Amos gave him two silver dollars. "This ought to be enough to get him fed tonight and tomorrow morning and pay for his boarding." As the sheriff took the coins, Amos said, "Of course, you'll need to sign a receipt for me."

Amos took out his small ledger and a pencil and gave them to the sheriff. "Find the first blank page. Write down that I gave you two dollars to provide two meals and board to my prisoner and then sign it."

Amos watched as the sheriff made marks in his book, closed it and then gave it back to him. Amos put the book inside his shirt without looking at the sheriff's entry.

"Aren't you going to look at it?"

"Why should I have to do that?" Amos smiled broadly. "You're a lawman. Lawmen don't lie to each other, do they?"

The sheriff was silent for a moment before saying, "You can't read or write, can you?"

Amos ignored the question because they both knew the answer was that he couldn't.

But Amos had a good memory. When he first became a marshal, he would study the warrants and paperwork he'd been given until he could associate the symbols of a written name with the sounds of the name as spoken. When he located a suspect or a witness, Amos would select the correct documents by matching the symbols. He would then have the person read the paper aloud themselves. This worked well unless his suspect couldn't read either, then he'd be forced to find someone that could.

"Is there a colored boarding house in town?" Amos asked instead.

"No, but you can stay in the empty cell if you want." The sheriff paused before adding, "At no charge. Or you might try the Harley House up the street."

Amos nodded. "Thanks. What did you mean when you told Redding he never thought he'd end up back here?"

The sheriff snorted. "You're some kinda lawman, aren't you? Didn't he tell you? Tom Redding's wanted for murder here."

Amos frowned.

 

The waiter at the Harley House set a plate of pot roast down in front of Kate Manser. She'd removed her black felt planter's hat and her buckskin coat and put them on the seat next to her. Then she opened the bottom two buttons on her vest and stretched her long legs under the table, listening to the sound her leather chaps made as they rubbed against each other. After she loosened the thigh ties of her holster, so she would have easy access to her sidearm if she needed it, she took a deep breath and tried to relax.

She told herself that she was accustomed to the stares, but she really wasn't. Occasionally, since she'd been seated, she'd sensed that the two ladies seated two tables over were talking about her. The women wore frilly white dresses with white broad brim hats and sipped tea from their cups making a point to show each other their delicately manicured hands. Kate had no use for women like that. They were probably Army officer wives waiting for the next stagecoach to take them to the nearest army outpost.

Kate shook her head in disgust. They'd probably never done a bit of hard work in their entire lives; never lifted a hammer to build anything, never tilled the soil behind a plow horse. They'd been given everything they had. They were the vultures who fed on the labor of others.

And yet, deep down in her heart, Kate envied them. It was a life she wished she'd had.

She'd been raised in an orphanage in Wyoming after her father, a sheriff, had been murdered by a bank robbing gang. She'd taught herself how to use a gun and a knife. And when she turned eighteen she began a hunt for those who'd killed her dad.

She was faster than most men with either weapon and she knew it and so did the men she'd killed in her pursuit of vengeance. She'd tracked down one of the men who'd been part of the gang of murderers to this town. After she ate, she'd make sure her father got the justice he deserved, the justice she'd given him in other towns she'd passed through.

She'd just picked up her fork and knife when she looked up and saw the sheriff of the town come in accompanied by a tall, well-built colored man. She watched them walk by her and sit down three tables over. In hindsight she probably looked at them, particularly the colored man, longer than she should have and that would certainly give those two old bitties something else to gossip about. Both men took off their hats when they sat down. The sheriff sat with his back to her and the colored man sat down so he faced her and for a second or two she and the man locked eyes. They both broke the gaze almost instantly.

The colored man was bald with a big, bushy mustache that came down around the edge of his lips and stopped at his chin, forming the beginnings of a beard. He wasn't a bad looking man, she thought, except he'd probably look better without the facial hair. Then she frowned and wondered why she should even care what this man looked like at all. She shrugged slightly, snatched another quick glance at him before then turning her attention back to her dinner. Indeed, why should she care?

 

Amos had noticed the red-haired, green-eyed woman dressed like a man almost immediately when he walked in with the sheriff. But doing anything other than noticing and quickly looking away could get a fellow like him hanged before he could take another breath -- lawman or not. Still, he had the feeling he'd seen her somewhere before, but he couldn't remember where. Maybe she'd been on a wanted poster he thought. Maybe that's why she looked ... so familiar. He quickly decided that she wasn't on a poster, but he wasn't going to spend any more time trying to figure out where he'd seen her.

He'd been a deputy marshal for ten years and he'd brought back every man he been assigned. Sometimes he killed when the bad guy left him no choice, but he tried to bring them back alive when he could. He was about four days' ride from Fort Smith when he decided he'd stop in this town to get enough supplies to complete his trip.

His prisoner hadn't said much since he captured him a week ago, but that was the norm whenever he captured a white man, something he wasn't assigned to do often. His boss, Marshal James Fagan, preferred to send the Negro deputies after other Negroes and Indians. But Amos was better than most other deputies, colored or white, and he had no qualms about bringing in fugitive whites as well as the others.

When he was assigned to pick up Tom Redding, it took him two weeks to find the man in the Indian Territory and he used up more of his supplies than anticipated. But if he'd known his prisoner was wanted in Adella, they would have never stopped here.

Still, despite this sheriff's initial but not unexpected hostility, things were going relatively well. The sheriff had said he'd tell him the story of the Redding murder while he was waiting for dinner. Amos was hungry and looked forward to a meal that he didn't have to cook himself.

They'd been sitting a couple of minutes when the waiter came to the table and looking at the sheriff said, "Sheriff, what can I get you?"

The sheriff looked at Amos before looking back to the waiter. "Two Delmonico steaks and coffee."

The waiter frowned and looked at Amos. "I ain't serving him."

The sheriff frowned. "Don't be stupid, man. It's not for him," he said pointing to Amos. "It's for me and my prisoner. Make them medium rare and bring it on a tray. We're not staying."

The waiter nodded and left. Amos sighed. It looked like if Amos was to eat tonight; he'd have to cook it himself after all. He looked at the sheriff. "And this is where you suggested I stay, huh?"

The sheriff shrugged. "Oh, you can't eat here, but they have rooms in the back that they'll let you stay in."

Amos frowned. He could just imagine what those rooms would be like. "Your jail is beginning to look pretty good to me about now." He paused. "So who did Redding kill in this town?"

The sheriff leaned forward. "A school teacher named Amy Lou Smith," he said. "About two years ago. Strangled her. She was engaged to Bob Lomax, the editor of the town weekly newspaper. Lomax was the one who found the body. He said she'd been teaching Redding to read for a couple of months. She went to the school that night to give Redding a lesson. When she didn't meet Lomax at the Harley House for dinner, he went to the school to look for her and found her dead. We went to Redding's place and he was already gone."

"You got a warrant for his arrest?"

The sheriff nodded. "Yeah, and the circuit judge will be here in ten days. I can hold him and we can have a trial here."

Amos shook his head. "Can't do that, but I can take your warrant and he will stand trial in front of Judge Parker at Fort Smith for the charge."

The sheriff frowned. "That ain't gonna work. All the witnesses are here. Why should they travel to Fort Smith when we can do it here?"

Amos raised an eyebrow. "Sounds to me like there was only one witness, that being Mister Lomax."

The sheriff smiled. "There were two witnesses, Marshal. When she didn't show up, Lomax asked me to go with him to the school. That's when we both found her."

"I'm taking my prisoner to Fort Smith in the morning," Amos said firmly. "Redding can stand trial there for this charge."

"You know something, Marshal? You don't listen real good, do you?" the sheriff said.

"I've been told that," Amos said as the waiter came back to table with a tray holding two covered plates. The sheriff stood, took one of the silver dollars out of his pocket that Amos had given him and put it on the table.

"Send a boy over to pick these up in an hour," he said to the waiter. "Have him bring over a couple of sandwiches and coffee for the marshal here when he comes by. Take it out of this." He pointed to the coin, then turned to the still seated Amos. "You coming?"

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CHAPTER TWO
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Was it in Tahiti?
Were we on the Nile?
Long, long ago,
Say an hour or so
I recall that I saw your smile. - (I Remember You - Mercer & Schertzinger)

 

Warren had been waiting outside Mister Lomax's office for about half an hour. The sign in the window said he would return in an hour. That could only mean he'd gone to the Harley House for dinner and Warren knew better than to interrupt someone as important as Mister Lomax while he was eating. Warren would wait outside the office.

Finally, Mr. Lomax returned. He opened the door to his office and took the sign out of the window before turning his attention back to Warren who'd followed him in.

"Mister Lomax! Did you hear about Redding being captured?" Warren said as Mister Lomax took his gun belt off and put his rig in his desk before sitting down.

"Redding?" Mister Lomax didn't look too happy that his fiancée's killer had been caught.

"Yeah, he's back," Warren said. "Some colored marshal brought him in."

"Did he say anything?"

"The marshal? Nah, he didn't say much except he wanted the sheriff to lock Redding up for the night."

Mr. Lomax frowned. "Not the marshal, you nit-wit. Redding! Did he say anything? Did he talk?"

Warren was confused. "You mean did he confess? No, he didn't say a word."

"That's too bad," Mister Lomax said as he stood, put his gun belt back on and walked out the door.

 

Kate, standing outside the Moonglow Saloon, reached inside the inner left hand pocket of her leather jacket and fingered her dead father's badge, a five pointed star. She took a deep breath to steady herself and whispered, "So it begins and so it will end," and then entered the bar.

It seemed to her that all the eyes in the room were on her as she stood in the doorway. The bargirls eyed her suspiciously and the men looked up from their tables and just stared in silence. There were maybe twenty people in the room, at least on the first floor. There was a stairway that led to the second floor and she could see that there were rooms off the second floor landing. There were three people standing at the bar.

She walked to the bar and slapped a half dollar on the counter. She didn't need to worry about getting the bartender's attention because he had noticed her from the moment she walked in. "Bourbon or whatever you have that passes for that," she said louder than she needed to as she turned her back to him.

"Ladies don't buy drinks in this bar," he said. Kate turned back around in time to see him shoving her money back toward her.

She locked her eyes on the bartender as she took off her hat and placed it on the bar counter. She drew her pistol and laid it flat on the counter pointing it at the bartender, keeping her hand on top of it and shoved the half dollar back toward him. "Good rule. When you see a lady in here you can tell them that. Now I asked for bourbon. Leave the bottle."

The bartender didn't hide the anger in his face. Someone behind Kate called out, "Give her a drink, Sam. No use being shot by some woman who ain't your wife."

Everyone started laughing except for Kate and Sam. Sam frowned before putting a bottle and a glass in front of her and taking the half dollar. Kate holstered her pistol and put her hat back on, positioning it so that it hid her eyes. She poured herself a drink and downed it in one gulp, then poured herself another one.

She picked up the glass, turned around and leaned back against the bar counter. The card games and conversations that had stopped when she entered resumed. She carefully scanned every face in the room. Then she saw him.

Mick Harris. He was one of the men who'd killed her father.

He was seated, facing her, and in a card game with two other men at a table in the back of the room. Kate made a show of downing the drink in her hand and pouring herself another one. She turned back to the barkeeper who looked at her with narrowing eyes as she shoved the bottle toward him.

Kate picked up her glass and walked over to Harris' card game. She stood off to the side and watched the game for a while making sure that she was positioned where Harris could see her.

"What's that?" Harris said in self-amusement, "your third or fourth? You trying to get drunk, pretty lady?" The other men at the table started snickering.

"No," Kate said with a slight slur in her voice. "Trying to get in a card game."

Harris frowned. "You got money? We play poker for real stakes." Then he leered again. "But I might be willing to bankroll you for a while if you're real friendly."

"I can bankroll myself," she said as she pulled out a wad of bills from her inside coat pocket. It was all the money she had in the world. "And with this I don't have to be friendly."

Harris looked at her money, then at her. "No, I don't think you do. You can sit in after this hand." He turned to the other players and said, "You don't mind boys, do you?"

The other players grinned and signaled no objection by shaking their heads.

Kate tipped her hat back revealing more of her face and smiled. "Good. I'll sit next to you."

 

Amos watched as the sheriff set the tray with the two steak dinners down on his desk. He removed one plate and cup of coffee from the tray and pushed it toward the edge of his desk. Amos's stomach started growling as the sheriff picked up a knife and fork and starting eating.

The sheriff looked up at Amos with a stare of amusement as Amos' anger started to rise. "What're you waiting on, Marshal, a personal invite? Hell, you paid for this and a steak ain't good when it's cold."

Amos stared as the sheriff continued talking with his mouth full. "You want the steak or the sandwiches, Marshal. Don't make me no-never-mind, but I'll tell you this; whether your prisoner was white or colored, all he was going to get was sandwiches. I'd eat up if I was you."

Amos hesitated about three seconds before he pulled up a chair to the desk and started feasting on the other steak dinner and coffee. He didn't realize how hungry he really was until he had that second bite of steak. It certainly beat salt pork any day.

"So," the sheriff said after Amos had swallowed his third bite. "How did you get to be a marshal?"

Amos knew he'd be asked that question soon or later. He didn't think it would be quite this soon. He set his fork down. "What you mean is -- how did a colored man get to be a deputy marshal, right?"

"Okay. Yeah. What happened? Was Judge Parker your old ex-master?"

Amos frowned. Yes, he'd been born a slave, but his former owner wasn't the type to setup anyone unless there was something personal in it for himself. Not many whites seemed to understand that he'd earned this job. He wasn't 'setup' into it.

"No," Amos said as he picked up his fork again. "My old master is dead. Judge Parker picked me because of the law work I did in Van Buren, Arkansas." He flexed his shoulders as he added, "And you can rest assured the judge has had no complaints."

The sheriff smirked. "Nah, judging by the size of you I don't think he would. You got family?"

Amos smiled broadly. "Yup. Got a pretty little wife in Arkansas, a big farm and ten kids."

"Ten kids? Good Lord, man. No wonder you're in Texas."

Amos laughed loudly. He wasn't a deputy because he wanted to get away from his wife, Mary. He was away because he was a deputy and his job demanded it. But there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't miss his family. He turned to the sheriff. "What about you? You married?"

"Widower."

Amos hadn't expected that answer. Sometimes it didn't seem fair that he'd been blessed with a loving wife and God had seen fit to snatch them away from others. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

The sheriff shook his head. "She died in childbirth a long time ago. Gave me two of the handsomest boys ever born before she died. Oldest boy, Dan, is a Texas Ranger. Youngest one, Rudolph, is finishing up law school in San Francisco." He paused and his chest filled up with pride the way a man's chest does when he's about to brag on his family. "He's gonna come out here next summer and see me and his brother," he continued. "But I ain't letting him stay out here. Gonna make him go back, have a good life and marry into society all proper like."

Amos was suitably impressed. A man who could raise two boys into respectable, law biding men by himself had a right to proud. That was no small tasks in these troubled times. Amos gave him a hearty smile as he raised his cup. "Here's to a good life."

The sheriff looked amused as he held up his cup being careful not to allow his cup to touch Amos'. "To a good life." He was silent before adding, "You better hurry up and finish that steak. I don't want anyone to come in here and get the wrong idea about me."

Amos frowned, put the cup down and said flatly, "Yeah. We wouldn't want that, would we?" He ate in silence until he finished his dinner and coffee. Then he stood and stretched. "That was good! Real good!"

The sheriff nodded as he picked up Amos' empty cup, broke it against the desk and tossed Amos' knife and fork in his trash container. Amos said nothing as the sheriff added, "One of the best meals I never paid for."

Amos stared at the broken cup for a moment, wondering if the sheriff would break the plate as well. Then he asked, "Is there a general store around here I can get some supplies?"

Before the sheriff could answer, the front door opened and a nattily dressed man briskly walked in the room. Amos stepped to the side so he wasn't between the two white men.

The man flashed a practiced grin at Amos, who was left with the impression that the man was about as trustworthy as a snake. "So this is the man who brought in Redding. Good job ... Marshal." Amos nodded in acknowledgement, but the man ignored him as he turned to the sheriff and said, "How soon before we can have a trial?"

The sheriff frowned as he threw a glance at Amos. "The marshal here is taking Redding to Fort Smith tomorrow for trial."

"I see," the man said turning his attention to Amos. "Maybe you don't understand. Redding murdered my fiancée. We need to have a trial here and hang him."

This must be Lomax, Amos thought as he reflected that hanging Redding was also what Judge Parker was probably going to do. "I am sorry for your loss, Mister Lomax, but maybe you don't understand. I have a warrant for Redding's arrest for bank robbery and he's going before Judge Parker at Fort Smith to stand trial. I told the sheriff I'd take a warrant from him back with me and Redding would stand to account for the murder too." He paused. "You'd be a powerful witness against him according to the sheriff, Mister Lomax."

Lomax's eyes narrowed almost to a squint as he answered, "I don't know how you knew my name, but it doesn't matter. It's a longtime until tomorrow and I wouldn't place any bets on Redding seeing sunrise." He turned to walk out, but stopped as he noticed the broken cup and the tray with two plates. "Maybe you don't represent the people here anymore," he said turning back to face the sheriff. "I'll remember this at the next election and I'll make sure others remember it too." He turned and stormed out slamming the door behind him.

It was always something, Amos thought to himself. He looked at the sheriff. "You never finished telling me where I can get some supplies?"

The sheriff's eye's widened in disbelief. "Are you dense or just plain deaf? He just told you he's going to try and take Redding by force tonight."

Amos pursed his lips together. "Like you said: try to take him. It just strikes me strange that the man who supposedly killed the teacher didn't say one word of protest about coming back to this town? I know if I'd killed somebody the last place I'd want to go was back to the scene of the crime."

The sheriff seemingly pondered that notion for a moment and then said, "There's no accounting for some folks. I'm going to get a drink. You gonna stay here?"

Amos shook his head. "I have to tend to the horses. You can lock the door when we leave." The sheriff picked up the food tray and walked to the door.

Amos followed and stood on the sidewalk as the sheriff set the tray outside and locked up his office. After pointing out the general store to him, the sheriff headed across the street to the saloon. Amos would have liked a drink too, but he knew his chances of getting served in the bar were slim. He'd have to wait until he got back to Fort Smith before he could satisfy his thirst. He turned and headed to the store.

Cornmeal, coffee and some salt pork were all he needed. When he entered the shop, he approached the man behind the counter and asked for a pound of the meat, coffee and a bag of meal, placing a silver dollar near the register as he did so. The man, who Amos would later learn was the owner, looked at the coin, grunted an acknowledgement and grudgingly filled Amos' order.

Amos knew he was overpaying for his supplies, but by doing so, it improved the chances that he'd get waited on. Greed can be a powerful incentive to do the right thing, his momma had taught him. Besides, Amos knew he'd be reimbursed for any expenses he incurred -- as long as they were recorded in his book.

It didn't come as a surprise to him that the storekeeper became aggravated when Amos wanted him to sign his ledger. And when it became clear that Amos wasn't going to leave until he'd signed the book, the frustrated shopkeeper snatched it from Amos' hand and made marks in it. The storekeeper's anger seemed to diminish a little when he noted that the sheriff had also signed the book.

Amos took his supplies, said a polite, "Thank you," and walked out of the store into the warmth of the evening sun. He had originally planned to take the horses to the stables and bed them down for the night, but now that he had to consider that there may be a lynch mob to take Redding, he decided that he would leave the horses saddled and tied up back behind the jail. If he was going to make a stand to protect his prisoner, he'd preferred to make it here at the jail and not on the trail. But it didn't hurt to be ready, just in case.

Like the sheriff had said there was no accounting for some people, but he prided himself on being a good judge of character. Redding was a thief, but he didn't look to be the type who'd murder. But maybe it had been an accident. He shrugged as he put his newly purchased supplies in his saddlebag. Accident or not, it didn't matter. He'd get Redding back to Fort Smith and let the judge sort it out. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask Redding some questions. After all, it was going to be a long night. He decided he'd find the sheriff in the saloon, get the key and let himself in the jail after he took care of the horses.

 

Kate had watched the sheriff come into the saloon, nod at the barkeeper and then go upstairs followed by one of the bar girls. At least, he'd be out of the way for a while, she thought.

She sat on Harris' right and had played a careful game of poker, winning and losing just enough to keep her in the game and others from getting suspicious of her true intention. She watched the two men, she and Harris were playing with, to note at what point they stopped looking at the dealer as he dealt the cards and looked down at their own hand.

She'd pushed her hat back on head and made a point of slurring her words every now and then to give the impression she was affected by the alcohol. She wasn't. It was during the fourth game that she palmed an ace from the deck and was pleased that no one had noticed.

It was now Harris' turn to deal. She waited until everyone had been dealt three cards. At that point the other players would turn their attention to their own hands and stop watching the dealer. It was then, she let Harris see that she was clumsily attempting to put the palmed card in her hand.

Harris slammed the cards on the table and stood. "Cheater!" he exclaimed as the other players looked up.

Kate stood and took two steps backward. "You calling me a cheat, mister? You better take that back. Everyone got the same number of cards in their hand and you're the one dealing."

"Don't lie to me, bitch," Harris shouted. "I saw you. If you were a man I'd kill you where you stand. Get out of here before I forget you're a woman!"

In one motion, Kate moved her jacket away from her gun and pulled her hat down, shielding her eyes. "Don't let what I am stop you. No one says Katherine Manser cheats and gets away with it. And no one ever calls me a bitch to my face and lives more than ten minutes. Make your play."

The other two men at the table stood and moved away.

Harris looked around the room. "Everybody heard that, right. She's calling me out."

"Stop jaw-jacking, murderer, and draw," Kate snapped.

Harris smiled and slowly nodded his head as he said, "Don't worry honey, I won't kill you. I got something else in mind for you - something special."

Kate flexed her fingers holding them away from her sidearm. "I'm not the one who needs to worry about dying today, Harris. Draw or apologize on your knees to me for what you called me." She knew he wouldn't do that.

She watched his eyes.

She was ready.

In an instant, Harris drew on her, but Kate was faster. His shot whizzed past her ear. Her shot struck him in the chest and Harris fell back with a thud.

"Nobody move!" she shouted as she kept her gun drawn and pointed at Harris. With her free hand she pointed to the man who'd been sitting on her right. "Count the cards on the table." She waved to the man who'd been sitting next to Harris, "See if he's still alive!"

"Turn around slowly and give me your gun," a gravelly voice said behind her.

She turned pointing her weapon toward the floor. It was the sheriff. He had his shirt, derby and gun belt in his left hand as he point a pistol at her with his right. She flipped her gun around and handed it to the lawman butt end first. As he took her gun he asked, "What happened here?"

The man who'd been counting the cards announced, "All the cards are here." He pointed to Harris. "He accused her of cheating, Sheriff, but there ain't a card here that don't belong and I didn't see her do anything."

The other man who checked on Harris stood and said, "He's dead. I didn't see anything until he stood up and called her out." He paused for half a second before adding, "He drew first, Sheriff."

"Get her out of here, Sheriff," Sam the bartender called out. "She's been nothing but trouble since she walked in."

"Okay," the sheriff said to Kate, "you come with me." He turned to the other men. "Get this man to the undertaker. Anybody know who he was?"

"His name was Mick Harris and he's wanted in Wyoming for the murder of Sheriff Manser," Kate said softly. "There's probably a reward."

"Oh, a bounty hunter, huh?" the sheriff snarled. "What's your name?"

"They call me Cimarron."

The sheriff frowned. "Alright, let's go, Cimarron." He motioned her to the door.

"Not without my money," Kate said as she reached down on the table and counted out her share of the pot. Then she walked to the door with a smile on her face followed by the sheriff.

~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER THREE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And it's a miracle
How one soul finds another
Just one miracle
Is all it took for my brother
For I have seen them
As they walk the world together
And I believe, I believe. - (Strong Hand (For June) - Emmylou Harris)

 

Amos was about to enter the saloon when the sheriff and the woman he'd seen at the Harley House came out. Actually, the sheriff was leading her out. "I was just coming to find you to get the key to the jail," he said as he turned and followed the sheriff back.

As the three moved across the street to the jail, the sheriff said to Amos, "Looks like you don't have a place to sleep tonight, after all. This woman shot a man and is gonna spend the night in the empty cell." Amos had already noticed when the woman came out of the saloon that she wore a gun belt slung low on her hip. She was a gunslinger, something Amos could recognize a mile away, and the man she killed probably didn't know it until it was too late.

The woman stopped in the middle of the street, spun around to face the two lawmen. She couldn't have been more than five-foot-five in boots and a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, but Amos just knew she wasn't someone to be taken lightly. "What?" she exclaimed. "You can't hold me. You heard the witnesses. He called me a cheater, called me out and drew on me first. You gonna hold me because he didn't kill me?"

Amos couldn't resist as he threw his head back in laughter.

The woman glared at him. "You find this funny?"

"Yes ma'am, I do," Amos answered. "Sound to me like you're upset cause the sheriff is probably doing you the biggest favor of your life tonight. At least if you're in jail a while, none of that man's friends can get back at you." He paused. "At least for tonight."

The woman stared hard at Amos, made a growling sound, but said nothing as she turned around and resumed walking to the jail. The sheriff flashed a quick smile at Amos as he unlocked his office door. There was a tray in front of the office on the sidewalk with sandwiches on it and coffee that was probably cold from having been outside.

Amos picked up the tray and followed the sheriff and the woman inside. He set the tray down on the sheriff's desk. Amos took the sandwiches and cold coffee off the tray and motioned for the sheriff to open the door leading to the jail cells.

"Come along, Cimarron," the sheriff said as he opened the door. He opened the second cell and Miss Cimarron walked in and tossed her hat on the bed. The sheriff locked the cell behind her and she sat on the cot.

"I want a matron. You can't keep me in here without a matron," she said.

The sheriff shook his head. "I doubt you'll be in here long enough to need a matron. I just wanted to get you out of that saloon."

Redding in the next cell stood. "You should have put her in here with me, sheriff." He turned to Miss Cimarron and grinned, "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

Miss Cimarron took what looked like a metal star out of her coat and started tossing it up and down. "Sure. I've already killed one man tonight. Killing another one won't bother me none."

"Both of you shut up," the sheriff yelled.

Redding turned to Amos. "Where's my dinner. You trying to starve me?"

"Here," Amos said as he gave Redding the two sandwiches and the coffee.

Redding took the sandwiches and sipped the coffee. He frowned. "It's cold."

"Like your heart, Redding. Like your heart," the sheriff snapped back as he put his shirt on, tucked it in his pants and put on his gun belt.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a wanted man here?" Amos said to Redding as the man hungrily munched the beef sandwiches.

Redding looked up with a quizzical expression on his face. "I'm not wanted for anything back here."

The sheriff leaned forward. "You remember Amy Lou Smith, don't you?"

"Amy?" Redding was quiet, but Amos noticed the man's legs started to tremble. He put his sandwich down and put his hands in his lap. "She doesn't know I'm here, does she? Sheriff, please don't let her see me in here. I don't want her to know I'm back in town like this."

The sheriff and Amos look at each other, stunned.

"She's dead," Amos said slowly. "They say you killed her."

Redding stood. There was panic in his face. "What? I didn't kill nobody. Why would I hurt Amy? She was the only one in this whole town who ever tried to help me. Always told me I could make something of myself. Told me there was a big world out there and I should see it. She was teaching me to read. She gave me readin' lessons at the school right up to the night I left."

"Maybe you wanted more than a lesson the night you left and she said no," Amos said. It hadn't escaped him that Redding had called the dead woman by her first name and not Miss Amy or Miss Smith.

Redding looked at the sheriff. "Look, I admit I asked her if she'd go away with me, but she said she couldn't. Said something about her already being condemned to Danny's second circle because of me. I didn't know what she meant, but she kissed me and wished me well and I left." He paused. "I know this, if she had gone with me, I know I wouldn't have ended up robbing banks, that's for sure."

Miss Cimarron, in the next cell, started laughing, softly at first, then louder.

"You find this funny?" Amos said to her. She had a nice laugh he thought. It was the type that was infectious and made you want to laugh with her. But it was clear to him that this woman hadn't smiled or laughed enough in her lifetime. He immediately chastised himself for thinking that. Her happiness was not his concern.

She stood and moved to the front of her jail cell so that she was about two feet away from Amos and the sheriff. She looked Amos in the eyes for a long moment, then looked at the sheriff. "Yes, I do. It's not Danny's second circle. It's Dante's second circle. It's the second circle of hell. That's the circle of lust. I learned all about Dante's Divine Comedy at the orphanage. My guess is your teacher wanted him as much as he wanted her."

She looked at Redding. "So how many times while she was teaching you the A-B-C's were you two doing it?"

Redding was silent, then he said to the sheriff. "Okay, maybe we was friendly a couple of times and I was mad that she didn't want to leave with me, but I didn't kill her. I swear she was alive when I last saw her. You can ask Mr. Lomax. I bumped into him on my way out. I know he saw me leave."

A slow smile crossed Amos' face. "Did Mister Lomax know you and Miss Amy were 'friendly'?"

Redding shrugged. "I don't think so. She was supposed to marry him or something. I think if he'd known, he might have tried to ... kill us both." Redding's jaw dropped as he realized what he'd said.

The sheriff opened Miss Cimarron's cell, motioning for her to come out and then said to Amos. "Maybe he only got half the job done."

 

Sam wiped his countertop with a damp cloth. Mister Lomax had been in the saloon for half an hour buying drinks for everyone in the bar. Sam had seen this happen at other places before where one person was able to work up a crowd to go do something they probably would regret in the morning.

"Two years ago, Tom Redding destroyed my life," Lomax said to the house. "He killed the only woman I loved and fled town. Now he's back and the sheriff's going to let him escape justice with some colored man. We can't let him get away with that, can we? What about justice for Amy?"

"Yes, what about some justice for Amy?" It was the sheriff and the colored marshal people had been talking about all day. They were standing in the doorway

Lomax frowned. "There'll be justice when we've hung Redding for killing our school teacher."

"You mean your fiancée, don't you?" the marshal said as he and the sheriff moved toward Lomax.

Lomax sneered at the marshal and smiled at those gathered around him. "Looks like the sheriff has brought his new best friend in here. Well, good! Since they're both here we can get Redding out of the jail now."

"You're in a big hurry to get that man hanged, aren't you?" the marshal said. Then he shrugged his shoulders as he added, "Of course, I would be too if another man was messin' around with my woman. Yup, I'd certainly kill any man who was fooling around with the woman I was going to marry."

Lomax moved his coat away from his gun and snarled at the marshal. "How dare you insult the honor of the woman I was going to marry? I'll kill you where you stand and I don't care whether you're wearing a badge or not."

"Before you do that," the sheriff said. "You should know that Redding already admitted he and Miss Amy were more than friendly with each other. Bet that must have made you pretty angry when you found out!"

"Weren't you standing outside the schoolhouse, waiting to take Miss Amy to the Harley House for dinner, when you overheard her tell Redding she was already slated for Dante's second level of hell because of him?" the marshal said as he squared himself against Lomax.

"Redding didn't know what she meant," the sheriff said as he moved to Lomax's left side. "But you did, didn't you? You heard Redding ask her to go away with him and after he left, you confronted Miss Amy, didn't you? Is that when she confessed that she'd been unfaithful? Is that when you killed her?"

Lomax's frown deepened. He nervously shifted his stance in front of the marshal. "That's a lie! Is that what Redding told you? That's not true. I loved Amy. Can't you see Redding's lying?"

"Why would he do that, Lomax? He brought your name up as his alibi without any prompting. He said he saw you going into the school house when he was leaving and that Miss Amy was still alive then," the marshal said. "That would make you, not Redding, the last one to see her alive, wouldn't it?"

"You didn't tell anyone you saw Redding leaving the school that night," the sheriff said. "In fact, you didn't say anything about going to the school that night at all, remember?"

"What did you do," the marshal said as he kept his right hand at the ready, "go back to the Harley House and wait for her to arrive knowing that she was already dead? Then after a while, did you pretend to be so concerned you got the sheriff to go with you so you'd have an alibi and a witness?" The marshal glanced at the sheriff. "Tell me, Sheriff, who suggested going to the Redding place. Was it Lomax?"

"It sure was," the sheriff said. He paused a split-second before he said, "Robert Lomax. You're under arrest in connection with the Amy Lou Smith murder. Give me your gun."

"This is your fault," Lomax shouted at the marshal.

In an instant, Lomax drew on the marshal, but the marshal seemed just as fast as the woman who had been in the bar earlier, Sam thought. Maybe faster.

Lomax's shot missed and knocked the marshal's hat off his head. The marshal had better aim and Lomax fell backward sporting a new third eye.

The marshal bent down and picked up his hat. He poked his finger through a bullet hole and turned to the sheriff. "Damnit, I'd just gotten it broken in the way I liked, too." He put the hat back on his head, reached into his pocket, pulled out a book and gave it to the sheriff. "Everyone who saw what happened, write it down in this book," he said.

Then the marshal reached into his right shirt pocket and pulled out another slip of paper and said, "Sheriff, this here is a 'John Doe' warrant. I'm arresting this man, Robert Lomax, for the murder of Miss Amy Lou Smith and the attempted murder of Deputy Marshal Amos Blackshear."

The sheriff took the warrant, glanced at it and then held it up so everyone could see. "This looks like a proper warrant to me and we all saw Lomax attempt to shoot the deputy here. That's as good as a confession to the Amy Smith killing for me and the deputy marshal shot Lomax in self-defense before he could serve his warrant." He passed the book to the man next to him as he added, "And that's what you'll write in this here book."

The marshal glanced at the sheriff before flopping himself down in a chair and placing his hat on the table. He looked at it for a long moment before picking it up and poking the bullet hole with his finger.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a woman's voice saying, "Can I buy that marshal a beer without having to pull a gun on you?" It was the woman who'd been in his place earlier and killed a man. He hadn't noticed her enter or approach the bar.

Sam stared at her for a moment and then flashed a quick grin. "Keep your money. I'll give him one on the house."

The woman smiled.

(The next morning)

Amos put his rifle in his saddle scabbard and led the horses around to the front of the jail. He was tightening the cinches on the Redding's horse when the sheriff escorted the wanted man out of the building.

"Good luck, marshal," a voice said from behind him. Amos turned around to see Miss Cimarron atop a pinto. She'd tilted her hat back so that he could clearly see her face. She leaned forward on her saddle horn, but before she could say anything else, Amos smiled and said, "Thank you for the beer, ma'am."

"What beer?" She smiled slightly.

"The bartender said you suggested it. Thank you."

"Don't worry about it, Marshal. Maybe you'll get a chance to buy me a beer some day."

"Yes, ma'am. Some day," Amos said. They both knew that would never happen.

"Looks like you'll be needing a new hat," she said.

He took his hat off his head and held it up, looking at the bullet hole, then looked back at her. "Maybe I'll just get it patched when I get back to Fort Smith as a reminder of this place." He put the hat back on his head.

Miss Cimarron nodded as her smile faded. "Have a safe journey, Marshal."

"Same to you, Miss Cimarron," Amos said slowly, suddenly filled with an overwhelming and unexplainable sense of sadness that he could hear in his own voice as he repeated, "Same to you."

The sheriff removed his handcuffs from Redding at the same time that Amos put his on the man. "Where are you heading to, Cimarron?" he said to her.

"Louisiana," she answered. "I've heard some good things about the town of St. Roch." She leaned back and re-positioned her hat on her head so that it shielded her eyes.

"Well, good luck down there," the sheriff said.

She nodded and again stared at Amos, smiled and then turned her horse and headed south out of town at a trot.

Amos did his last double check on Redding's handcuff and then helped him get on his horse. Holding on to the reins of his prisoner's steed, Amos mounted his own red stallion.

"Thanks for your help," Amos said. He smiled broadly. "I don't think I ever got your last name, sheriff."

The sheriff smiled. "No, I don't think you did. It's West. Walt West."

Amos nodded. "Well then, thanks for your help, Sheriff West. My best to you and your boys." As Amos turned his horse, Sheriff West went back into his office.

 

"... and then without looking back, I led my prisoner east out of town at a slow walk to Fort Smith," John said. He glanced at Shayera as he added meekly, "Then I woke up."

Shayera looked amused as she leaned back against the headboard of the bed and said, "That was quite some dream you had."

"Told you it was weird." His back was starting to ache. He needed to stand.

"Well it certainly was that, but you got her name wrong."

John frowned. "How could I possibly get a name wrong? It was my dream and I just told you about it." He got out of bed, stood and flexed his shoulders.

She shook her head and got out of bed and stretched. "I don't doubt it was your dream, but you got her name wrong just the same. Her name was Cinnamon, not Cimarron." She smirked.

John rubbed his eyes. Now he had a headache. "And just how do you know that?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but said nothing as her face suddenly ran a whole gamut of emotions in an instant. Her eyes had widened as if in horror as she finally said softly, "I ... I don't know."

She was silent and clearly distressed. After a pause she shook her head and said, "I don't know ... I just know .... but I don't know how I know. Does that make sense?" She looked away and said softly, "Her name was Cinnamon, not Cimarron, and she never left St. Roch." She looked back at John.

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Shayera finally said, "You don't think that your dream actually happened and that we --"

"For God's sake, don't finish that thought," he said cutting her off. "Because I really don't want to think about anymore possible 'reincarnation' scenarios. As it is, I'm already starting to feel weird about this."

"Okay," Shayera said, too quickly and too easily he thought. She turned and headed toward the bathroom. "Let's get dressed and go get breakfast in the cafeteria. It's your turn to buy."

"My turn? It's your turn. I bought dinner last night." They'd made a practice of alternating who paid for the meals whenever they had the opportunity to eat together.

"Yeah, but now I think I'm ready for you to pay me back for that beer," she said as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

He could hear her laughter as he grabbed a pillow off the bed and flung it at the door.

END

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

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