“How long, Sheriff Nolan?” the priest asked, having cleared his throat.
The fat lawman reached into his vest pocket and plucked out a silver pocket watch, clicking it open and peering at the face. “Be noon in about five minutes.”
“Time passes so slowly when one is being amused.” The voice from under the enveloping hood was a sepulchral whisper, no louder than the rustling of paper.
“That is true, sir,” the priest agreed, nodding like a rocking doll.
“Anything you want to say, Cawdor?” the sheriff asked. “You got a couple of minutes.”
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Ryan replied.
“How’s that, son?”
“I know it sounds stupe, but I’d be grateful if you could tell me why you’re planning on hanging me.”
Nolan threw back his head and laughed, the priest joining in with a nervous titter. “Well, now, that’s a good one, ain’t it, Reverend?”
“Indeed it is, Sheriff, indeed it is.”
The noose seemed to be getting tighter around Ryan’s throat, and he swallowed hard.
“You’re here, Cawdor, to pay the blood price for the crime you committed.”
“What crime?”
“As if you didn’t know.”
“I don’t know. Fireblast, Sheriff! Stop this bastard game playing!”
“Now, son, you know very well that you must have committed a crime, otherwise we wouldn’t be here to give you a neck-stretching party.”
“To teach you to tango on air,” the hangman whispered.
“To show the good folks of the town how we settle the hash of bloody bastards like you,” the priest added quietly, clearing his throat.
“But why?” The rope was pinching harder, and Ryan found it hard to speak.
The hangman moved forward a couple of steps, to stand close to Ryan, emitting the odor of fresh-turned earth in an ancient grave. “This gallows has only been built for you, Ryan. Once you’ve hung a few hours we can take it down forever.”
“What about my body?” As if that really mattered a damn, he thought.
Nolan answered him. “Cut down and dragged around town behind the lady mayor’s stallion. Then stripped naked and slung on the manure pile behind the Clanton Livery Stables, so folks can see you’re truly dead and gone.”
“And then we can all sleep easy,” the priest said sanctimoniously, holding his hands steepled together. “Is it noon, Sheriff?”
As if in answer, the town square was flooded with the deep sound of a church bell, tolling the fourth quarter of the hour, followed by twelve chimes.
Nolan farted noisily. “Best get it over.”
He walked to the front of the platform and clapped his hands for quiet. Gradually the chattering died down. “You all know why we’re here,” he shouted. “So now, we’ll do it.”
The priest coughed nervously and stood at Ryan’s side, resting one moist hand on his shoulder. The other held the small black prayer book, the pages fluttering like aspen leaves in a hurricane.
“Insomuch as it has blessed Almighty God to take this wretch into his keeping, we are gathered here today in his sight and in the face of this congregation to witness the prescribed ending for this evil doer.”
“But what have I done?” Ryan said loudly.
His words were relayed through the crowd, now numbering several hundred, and were greeted with bellows of merriment.
“Tell us how blessed are the cheese makers!” shouted a fat old man in the middle of the mob, drawing more laughter from those around him.
The priest giggled and waited for the noise to abate. “The sentence of the court was that Ryan Cawdor should be brought to this place of lawful execution and here hung by the neck until he was dead, his body finally to be buried in an unmarked grave in the grounds of the prison where he was last confined.” A studied pause followed. “And may God have mercy on his soul.”
“No chance of that,” the executioner breathed. “Not after slaying my brothers and my sister.”
“Do your duty,” the sheriff intoned.
“But you haven’t told me my crime,” Ryan protested hoarsely. The noose was shrinking, tighter and tighter, so that he could hardly breathe.
“Life is easy, but waiting is hard,” the hangman whispered as he reached up to adjust the knot.