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A small town in the American Old West, in the 1870's.
Chapter 1
Usually, Everett Owens would enjoy the sunset. The great, Western sunset. It was legend around here. Nothing in the skyline but rock. The parade of colors would be coming soon, as if the sky was painted by God’s brush itself.
However, today wasn’t by definition, a ‘usual’ day for Everett Owens. Settling down for the night on nothing but the rocky ground was usual. Settling down for the night with your grave dug for you just a few yards away wasn’t.
He sat on a crate, foot tapping nervously. Everett, those nervous ticks’ll get the best of you one day, his Father used to say. But he couldn’t help it. Everett was full of nervous energy. The promise of death at first light did that to you.
“Alright, Ladies. There’s yer beds.” Joe Lee, the warden and their watchmen, had said, gesturing to the freshly dug graves near the tree. “I want a clean night, ya hear? We’ll have Mr. Williams a nice hanging tomorrow. Getting you law breaking scum off his land’ll do him proud.”
Law breaking scum. The words made Everett blink rapidly. He wasn’t scum. He just wasn’t. The lot of the group here probably were. He had committed no crimes. None at all. The justice system around here wasn’t kind.
And they deserve it. That’s what he used to think, anyway. A lot of things were different now. He was 17 now. A man by most people’s standards. And people would look on, if there were any here at the moment besides Joe and the rest of the doomed, and say, what’s a young man like that doing in line for the rope? Probably got himself in a whole mess of trouble. That’s the heat out here. It’ll turn a perfectly good man against his morals another would say. But Everett had his morals. He had them in his Bible too, before he lost that. In any case, he was sitting here, watching the sunset with a bunch of law breakers and outlaws. Wonderful company for a young man.
There was no conceivable way out of this mess, as far as he could see. And Everett was a smart boy. He could read and write and figure things out. “Logic Owens” was what they used to call him.
"You’ve got the brains, kid, you’ll do alright. ‘Cuz you can use your head. That’s more than I can say for most boys out here." That’s the last thing that Ed Winchester had said to him before he went off to go into ranching. Good old Ed. He hadn’t heard head or tail of him since then.
In any case, things were looking bleak even for Everett and all his supposed logic. There were two guards, Joe Lee and another man he didn’t know. They were vigilant, and more importantly, armed. Guns. Everett shuddered.
Plus, how far could you get, even if you got past the guns, on foot? The stables were guarded at night. If you ran with just the shirt on your back, you’d die of thirst, or be scalped by Indians. He wasn’t sure of the last one. He’d only seen an Indian once. They didn’t seem to keen on scalping. But they did have guns. Guns and bows. In any case, he wouldn’t want to come face to face with a rogue band of them in the middle of the night. He didn’t think they’d take too kindly.
So he sat, on the empty crate, tapping his foot in his good old boots nervously, kicking up a small cloud of dust with every tap. The other guys here looked bad. Angry. Sullen. Bowlegged. Most were sitting around, hats off, staring at the dirt, looking grim. Everett pushed a hand nervously through his dirty, shaggy dark hair. He even looked like an outlaw, he thought, rubbing his chin where there was a bit of stubble. Minus the hat. He’d lost that when he’d lost his Bible.
So now all he had was his shirt, boots, pants and vest. He was used to being hot in the day and cold at night. Tonight was just setting in and he was shivering. Maybe that was the fear talking.
His constantly moving gaze landed on that man. The strange one. The one everyone noticed as strange, even around here, from first glance. He looked to be somewhere not far from twenty and five, in a nice set of trousers and vest, clean shirt and hat. The only part of him that looked outlaw-like was his hair, which was dark, down to his shoulders and curly, and his boots, which were well worn, but still fine looking. He even looked somewhat shaved.
And he was lying in his dug grave, smoking. Just smoking. Like there wasn’t a care in the world. His hat sat on his chest, his grave just two yards or so from Everett’s crate with the rest of the pits. Everett couldn’t fathom this man. Why did he look like it was just another night in the desert? Why was his clothing so new?
“What’s your deal?” Everett finally hissed. He couldn’t take it anymore. Confusion, fear and the feeling that he was a victim of a gruesome injustice boiled under his skin, mixed with that large helping of nervous energy. That was what brought on the usual verbal attack.
“You talking to me?” the man said, not even batting a lash. He’d put away his tobacco, and put his hat on top of his face.
Everett paused. What he said was impulsive. Rash. He wasn’t prepared for a reply. He didn’t know what to say, and more importantly, he didn’t know weather getting on this man’s bad side.
“Um... yes.” he said finally.
“What’s your deal, kid?”
Again Everett was quiet. The man spoke again.
“Come over here. Get up. Let me tell you something.” he commanded in the same cool, quiet tone, thick with an accent that seemed elegant and rough at the same time.
Everett didn’t know why did it. Maybe he hadn’t talked to a serious adult in a while. Maybe the outlaw was intimidating. But he did. He went over, paused and crouched down next to the man’s grave/bed.
“Ya there?” the man asked.
“Yeah.”
“What’s yer name, kid?”
Everett again paused. It wasn’t like he didn’t have anything to lose.
“Everett Owens. Everett Jacob Owens. Who are you?”
“Name’s Julian Vertigo. Now, answer this question. Do you want to get out of here?”
The man’s name caught Everett off guard. But not as much what he said.
“Of course.” Everett choked out. “How are you planning to do that?”
“Good. Get back to me in an hour.” Julian Vertigo said, not answering the question, and fell silent.
“What?”
Vertigo pushed his hat above his brow and flicked his gaze to Everett.
“You’re younger than I expected.” he said gruffly. “I said, get back to me in an hour. I’ll get ya out of here.”
“How are you going to do that?” Everett asked again, a bit louder than he meant to.
“Shush!”
The warden and the other guard were talking, and the crackle of the fire made a noise too. The sun was almost set, the sky almost all the way dark. Everett kicked himself for not being more quiet.
“I’ve got my ways.” Vertigo said, pressing his palms together under his lip like he was praying. Everett highly doubted this man every prayed to anyone. Vertigo looked up at the sky like a man just checking the weather. “I’ll give you a clue. Lee, the warden, he’s deaf in one ear. Doesn’t want anyone to know, but he is.”
“Really?” Everett looked up at the older man, talking to the other warden.
“True as rain.” Vertigo said, the corner of his mouth flicking up. “And the other warden’s gonna be asleep in an hour or so.”
“How’d you know that?”
“He was guarding the jail last night, y’know, when they brought in most of this stock.” he referred to the other prisoners. Didn’t get a wink o’ sleep. I listen, kid. Plus, I’ve been in these types of messes since you before you were growing whiskers.”
Everett was intrigued by this Julian Vertigo and his observances.
“An hour, kid. Don’t fall asleep.” And with that, Vertigo put his hat back on his face and didn’t move.
Everett stood up, looking over at Joe Lee and the other guard who were still in conversation. He brushed off his pants and sat back down on his crate, resting his chin in his hands, and looking at the full moon just rising in the sky. He waited.
End of Chapter 1
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