The coach ride from Ft. Worth to San Antonio was even rougher than the previous one. A nun, a prisoner, and a marshal accompanied them on the trip. It was hot and muggy, and the air barely moved.
For several miles, no one said much.
The nun broke the silence inside the coach. "That's a lovely dress." She smiled at Trish.
Trish looked at the sister. She was middle aged, well-seasoned, and had probably been a nun all her life, the way she acted.
"Thank you." Trish barely glanced at herself, but she looked at the nun and smiled. "Are you going all the way to San Antonio?"
"Yes, Father Garcia is expecting me. He just opened another church and he needs help in running two in the city. I'm Sister Ann Hardy. You can call me Sister Ann."
"I guess there are lots a Catholics down there," the prisoner blurted.
"Yes, there are." The nun glanced at the man who sat beside her. "Are you going to San Antonio?"
The young man laughed heartily. "Yeah, they are gonna hang me. You are mucho welcome to come and see, Sister. Have you ever witnessed a hanging?"
"No, I can't say that I have, but I will attend if it pleases you. I will pray for your soul."
"Sure, why not? I am Juan Martinez, and he is Marshal Cooper, Ed Cooper. But I'm afraid it's too late to pray for me, Sister, and expect satisfaction."
~*~
Gil studied to boy, he couldn't have been over eighteen or nineteen, skinny, rather dirty. But Gil saw a lot of life in his eyes. He had black, expressive eyes that a person would naturally notice.
"It is never too late, my son." Sister Ann smiled and looked to be praying with her rosary at the same time.
Everyone glanced at the marshal.
Marshal Cooper grimaced. He was close to middle age, with a big mustache and a hat just as big.
The prisoner was a young Mexican. Had he been clean he might be a good looking kid, Gil reflected.
The nun reached to touch the young man's hand. "I will pray for you, my son."
"Ain't no use prayin' for me. It's too late, but I thank you."
"No one is beyond hope," the nun corrected.
The marshal glanced at the nun. "Don't waste your time on him. He's guilty as sin."
"Sin is forgivable by the Lord, sir. And we all sin in some way, so we are all equal in the sight of the Lord."
"He murdered an entire family," the marshal insisted. "He murdered and robbed them, ma'am. Redemption won't keep him from hanging."
"Perhaps, but his soul is still worth saving, wouldn't you say?" she asked sweetly.
"No, lady. He's going to hell, for what he done."
~*~
Trish studied the hardnosed marshal. He had a clean suit of clothes on. He even had a shine to his boots. He was obviously proud of his position. His badge seemed to flash into everyone's eyes, as though he polished it nightly.
"Marshal, I hate to disagree, but this woman probably knows more about where the young man is going than we do. And praying for him can't hurt."
The nun smiled at Trish.
"Even I think it is too late for prayer, but I honor this woman for wanting to do so." The young man glanced at the nun who still held his hand in hers. His hand was dirty, but the nun didn't seem to mind. She held it a long time.
Trish tried to change positions, but there wasn't room to get comfortable. Gil opened his arms for her to rest against him.
When everyone looked at Trish strangely, he explained, "My wife is pregnant. This trip looks to be hard for her."
Now everyone stared at her.
She cuddled against Gil.
Sweat poured off everyone it was so hot. Trish slept the best she could.
~*~
"Has he already had a trial?" Gil asked curiously.
"Yep, and it didn't take them long to find him guilty," the marshal added. "The jury wasn't gone more than an hour." The marshal's dark cold eyes stared outside mostly. He seemed uninterested in talking with anyone.
"Want to tell us what happened?" Gil asked the prisoner, who still hadn't turned loose the nun's hand.
The nun stared at him with shining blue-gray eyes and smiled. "Please. Sometimes it helps to talk about it."
"I was mucho hungry. I had traveled many days. My horse gave out under me. I had walked for many miles before I came onto this family of farmers."
The marshal didn't even glance at them.
"At first, they seemed to want to help me. They gave me food, but they had no horse, only a mule the man would not sell to me. I had money in my pockets. Stolen money, but still. When the farmer asked where I came from, I told him the truth, that I had ridden with Senor Rodriguez the outlaw. We separated after the hold-up to throw the law off our trail. This upset the man very much, and he wanted me to leave. I told him I could not leave without a horse or mule. He refused to sell him. He refused to loan him to me. I told him I could not walk, that my boots were too worn and had too many holes in them. I showed him my boots. The man… he no longer cared. He said that was my problem. He said I must leave. He was concerned for his family."
"And did you leave?" the nun asked.
"No, not at first. I asked him if he had some boots I could wear. He said no. He said he wasn't giving me anything else."
Gil nodded and glanced again at the marshal, who still wasn't paying any attention.
"Then what happened?" Gil prodded.
"He got a gun, and he threatened to kill me. I told him I meant him no harm, but that I needed his mule or a pair of boots to leave. He would not give them and shot at me. I lunged at him, and we struggled with the gun. It went off, and I shot him. He was dead before he hit the ground. His wife, she tackled me to the ground, and she got the gun and tried to shoot me, but in the struggle, I was able to turn it on her and it went off. I only meant to scare her. I did not mean to kill her. I never killed a woman before."
"And the children?" The nun was concerned now, and her fingers slipped faster on the rosary.
"They were staring at me, like I was a killer. I told them I had to shoot their parents. That it was an accident. I was scared. I knew they would identify me to the law. When the oldest boy jumped me and his brother tried to help, we struggled on the ground. The gun went off, and the little girl was killed. She was standing just a little ways from us and just watching it all. It was not my doing. I only wanted to get the gun from them. They turned to grieve for their parents and the little girl, so I had time to get away. I knew the law would say it was my fault. I was a robber and now a murderer. If they caught me, I would hang."
"So the marshal caught you?" The nun asked, her hands finally stilled.
"Si. It was a week later. I was walking and hot and tired. I stopped to rest and to try to fix my shoes. I stuffed some of my torn shirt into the shoes to mend the holes. As I was busy, the marshal caught up to me. I was too tired to go on, too tired to fight. He took me in. There was a trial, and now I am to hang. I should hang. I killed those people. I didn't mean to, but I did."
"Why in San Antonio?" Gil asked, not commenting on his story. "Why not where the trial was held?"
"Because that is where I am wanted. And the law there insisted I must hang there. I had robbed a bank down there a year before, and they had caught and tried me. They found me guilty. I was supposed to hang. But my friend Rodriguez helped me escape their jail. There was a shoot-out, and a deputy was killed. They held me responsible, even though it was Rodriguez that killed him. At the time I had no gun."
"That's quite a story. Why did you ride with this Rodriguez fella in the first place?" Gil probed. "Didn't you know what kind of man he was?"
The young man looked at him from head to toe and shook his head. "You probably have never been hungry. Never had your belly bite at you because there was no food. But I was orphaned and had no job. I was hungry all the time. Our farm was nothing more than a dried-up piece of land. There was no food in the garden except onions. I tried to kill rabbits with stones. Only once did I kill one. I ate good for a couple of days. Then there was nothing again. Then Rodriguez came to my father's farm. He saw how dirt poor I was. He saw the clothes that were rotting from my body, the empty cupboards. He felt sorry for me. He promised if I rode with him that I would eat regular and I did."
The nun glanced up at his face. "Didn't you know that robbing and murder were wrong, son?"
"Si, I knew, but a man has to eat, Senora, and I didn't know how to get food. Everyone around us was poor and starving too."
"Are you sorry for what you have done?" The nun squeezed his hand.
"Si…" The young man hung his head.
"Then I will pray God forgives you for your sins," the nun repeated.
"Thank you."
Gil shook his head. It was hard to imagine being that hungry, but Gil knew there were many in that situation.
"See, he admits his guilt." The marshal glanced at Gil. "Don't matter if he meant to kill those people or not. They are dead, and he walked away. Three of them dead, for what… boots… a mule?"
"Did you take the mule?" the sister asked.
"Si, I did."
"What happened to it?" Gil asked.
"I could not feed it. I gave it water when we found it, but I had no food for it. The land was dried up, and the food was dead. The mule… he began to bellar. It was a loud sound, a miserable sound. I took the gun I killed the people with and I killed the mule, to put him out of his misery. Then again I walked."
"At least you knew to do that," Gil said flatly.
The marshal nodded. "Yeah, but it just ain't enough. He's guilty. He admitted it. He's going to hang for it."
"There's no doubt about that, but I can pray for his soul." The nun looked at the boy and squeezed his hand again.
"Have you ever been hungry, marshal?" the boy asked.
"Yeah, but there's a cure for that. Something I guess your folks didn't teach you. It's called work."
"When you live in a community that is poor, you do not work for money, because no one has any. You work for food. And when the food is gone, you starve."
"Then you should have worked for it, instead of begging," the marshal corrected.
"Again you have never been hungry, or you might understand. When one is hungry, work is impossible, for there is no strength in your body," the boy said softly.
The marshal frowned. "Don't waste your sad stories on me, boy."
"No, sir."
Gil glanced from one man to the other. He felt for the poor, ignorant kid, and he wondered why the marshal had such a cynical view of things. One didn't quit feeling for mankind without a reason.