apparatus, contrivance, agent, or means as may be sufficient to suspend Mr. Pardeen’s carcass above the ground, bringing about the effect of breaking his neck, collapsing his windpipe and, in any and all ways, squeezing the last breath of life from his worthless, vile, and miserable body.”
The gallery broke into loud applause and cheers and shouts.
“Hey, Pardeen, how does it feel? You’ll be in hell this time tomorrow!” someone shouted.
“Hell is too good for you!” another said.
Judge Clark banged his gavel a few times, then realizing the futility of it, looked at the deputy.
“Get his sorry carcass out of here,” he said.
Acting Sheriff Lewis Baker had been napping at his desk when something awakened him. Opening his eyes, he looked around the inside of the sheriff’s office. The room was dimly lit by a low-burning kerosene lantern. A breath of wind moved softly through the open window, causing the wanted posters to flutter on the bulletin board.
A pot of coffee sat on a small, wood-burning stove filling the room with its rich armoa. The Regulator clock on the wall swept its pendulum back and forth in a measured “tick-tock,” the hands on the face pointing to ten minutes after two. The acting sheriff rubbed his eyes, then stood up and stretched. Stepping over to the stove, he used his hat as a heat pad and grabbed the metal handle to pour himself a cup of coffee. Taking a sip of his coffee, he glanced over toward the jail cell. He was surprised to see that Pardeen wasn’t asleep, but was sitting up on his bunk.
Baker chuckled. “What’s the matter, Pardeen?” he asked. He took another slurping drink of his coffee. “Can’t sleep?”
“No,” Pardeen growled.
“Well, I don’t know as I blame you none,” the acting sheriff said. “I mean, you’re goin’ to die in about four more hours, so you may as well stay awake and enjoy what little time you got left on this earth.” He took another swallow of his coffee.
“Ahhh,” he said. “Coffee is one of the sweetest pleasures of life, don’t you think? But then, life itself is sweet, ain’t it?” He laughed again, then turned away from the cell.
He gasped in surprise when he saw someone standing between himself and his desk. He had not heard the man come in.
“Who the hell are you?” Baker asked gruffly. “And what the hell are you doing in here? You aren’t supposed to be in here.”
“My name is Corbett. I’ve come to visit Mr. Pardeen.”
“There ain’t no visitors authorized right now,” Baker said.
“I’ve got some sad news for him.”
“Sad news?”
“Yeah, his brother was killed.”
Unexpectedly, Baker chuckled. “Is that a fact? His brother was killed, was he? Well, now, I wouldn’t want to keep our prisoner from getting any sad news,” he said. He made a motion toward the cell. “You just go ahead and tell Pardeen about his brother. The son of a bitch is going to be dead in four more hours. I’d like to do everything in my power to make his last hours as unpleasant as I can.” Baker laughed again.
Corbett nodded, then walked over to the cell. “Pardeen, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your brother Emerson got hisself kilt last week.”
“Who killed him?”
“A fella by the name of Smoke Jensen. You ever hear of him?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of him. How’d it happen?”
“Damn’dest thing you ever saw. Emerson had his gun drawed already, and he was comin’ back on the hammer when Smoke Jensen drawed his gun and shot him.”
“You seen this, did you?” Pardeen asked.
“Yeah, I seen it.”
“He must be pretty fast.”
“He is fast. He’s faster’n anyone I ever seen.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t care how fast he is. I’m goin’ to kill him.”
Acting Sheriff Baker laughed so hard that he sprayed coffee. “You’re going to kill him? And how are you going to do that? Come sunrise, you’re goin’ to be hangin’ by your neck.” He put his fist by his neck, then make a rasping sound with his voice and tilted his head in a pantomime of hanging.
“Give me your gun,” Pardeen said quietly.
Nodding, Corbett drew his pistol and passed it through the bars to Pardeen.
“Sheriff, you want to step over here for a moment?” Pardeen called.
“What do you want?” the acting sheriff asked. Then, shocked at seeing a pistol in Pardeen’s hand, he threw up his arms. “No!” he shouted in fear.
Without so much as another word, Pardeen shot the deputy.
“When you get to hell, tell my brother hello for me,” Pardeen said.
“Where are the keys?” Corbett asked.
“They’re over there, hanging on a hook behind the desk,” Pardeen said, pointing.
