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Click-clack, click-clack. He heard coming from beneath the wooden wagon, just over the whistling wind from the cracked window beside him. He tilted his hat down, blocking the god rays from his bleary eyes as he was rocked side to side in his seat. He ran the edge of his thumbnail along the seams of his blue jeans, passing over the splatters of dark and dry stains.

It was just as he became lost in his thoughts—eyes focused in on the empty plains outside—when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Mr Williams?" said a dry voice, a pipe hanging from his crackling lips. "May I?" he asked, as he sat down in the seat next to his. Will stared blankly at the man for a moment. "Suppose you're livingstone's sheriff?" he asked gruffly, clearing his unused throat. The man nodded. "Yessiree," he answered plainly, extending his rough hand. "Sheriff Wyatt, peacekeeper."

It was as Will took Wyatt's hand that he was pulled closer—finding the sheriff's blue eyes boring into his—as a smile stretched onto his face. "Twenty years," Wyatt stated, as his misshapen teeth shone behind parting lips. "And I've respect for a man of your stature." At the same time as Will pulled back, he felt a light lurch forward, followed by the faint sound of screeching brakes. The sheriff looked to the front of the wagon, seemingly taking no notice to the high pitch as he arose from his seat.

"They'll be waiting," he said, with a quick glance to a pocket watch out of his vest. "Not that it's your fault. One cannot anticipate the Cheyenne to be so brave, as to rob a coach!" he spoke over his shoulder, already making headway for the front. Will shuffled over, and stood up as he saw the beginnings of buildings appearing from one side of the wagon. "Again, i must apologize for my prior intrusion, Mr Willams!" the sheriff shouted, as he impatiently opened the door before they had even arrived at the station proper. "But you must understand, such crimes mustn't go unpunished! And our executioner..." though he trailed off, an implication Will hoped not to discover.

Just as the train had finally come to a stop, did Wyatt step off onto the empty platform. "If I may, I'll have to leave you to wait a moment with her when we get there." Though William found himself nearly blindsided by the Sheriffs words. "A woman?" He asked cautiously, as Wyatt reciprocated a hat tip to the ticketer. "Ah, why yes. I know it sounds unusual, though it's certainly no lady." Wyatt said, as the bar's shadow began to loom over them. "Remember that coach raid? They were the same bastards that hit us."

William found himself speechless—though he was accustomed to the widely accepted hierarchy—it was something he never had to directly face. "You're saying I have to hang members of the cheyenne?" But the sheriff spoke without looking back. "Just the one, the rest fled. Like the rats they are." he spoke with a clear disgust. It never sat right with William, the inherent disregard handed to the Cheyenne that he despised, an opinion that earned him more then a fair share of beatings when he was younger.

"Now, I'd usually do it myself, or hand it off to Gram, our.. previous executioner." The sheriff said, making William's curiosity finally burst. "What did happen to him?" He blurted out, causing the sheriff to slow in his tracks, head turned halfway back until one eye peered at him. "What do you think." Wyatt said lowly, before continuing on. Just before the sheriffs office, did William finally see the side of a building charred black, and with a few windows shattered on the building next to it.

William picked up his pace, catching up to Wyatt as he held the door open. It was as soon as he stepped into the dusty room that he saw her—sat with her hands on her knees—attention fixated on the two grizzly men who had just entered. "There she is." sheriff Wyatt stated plainly, closing the door behind himself as he meandered over to his desk. "Now again, normally I would be fine in sorting such matters myself." Wyatt said, pulling a lever action off the wall. "However, I must assure the towns safety, and will have my deputy see that a proper hanging be had."

But as the sheriff spoke, William found his gaze fixated on the woman, as her eyes remained locked onto the rifle. "William?" The sound of his name snapped him out of his own trance. "You've camp fever?" the sheriff asked plainly, loaded rifle in hand as his blue eyes bore into him again. But Will didn't answer, only shaking his head as he took a seat upon a bench opposing the cell. "Right. Ask my deputy about seeing to it, then. We've a doctor who may be of some help." Wyatt stated, before walking to the back of the room. "Just wait here, and you'll soon be guided to the gallows. And William?" the sheriff asked, opening the door as he looked back, leaning slightly to see through the gaps in the bars between the two.

"Thank you kindly for your service." Wyatt said, gently closing the door behind him, leaving Will to the silence of the room, and the woman now staring intently at him. It was in the immediately following silence that Will's gaze turned to the cheyenne woman, but something unnerved him this time. Other then the fact that she was a woman, something he had never had to deal with before in his line of work so far, it was something else about her that he couldn't understand.

His eyes widened as he noticed himself staring—looking away with a clearing of his throat—but her features lingered on his mind. She had beautiful black hair, neatly tied into long ponytails. And a face quite remarkably similar to that of a white womans. She had tattered garments, ether lended to her or stolen prior he figured. And quite a few bruises all over. He didn't like it one bit—sitting in the room with her—but he couldn't grasp what about her could possibly be putting him off so much. He had objectively dealt with much worse, and remarkably louder criminals that had only ever served to make him chuckle. As evil as it made him feel.

But as he pondered, one memory of a particular young man crossed his mind. It was a matter of murder, in cold blood, but the man was polite, even remorseful. One of the only times Will ever felt close to as he did now. Was it regret? Obviously she had done something wrong, but so had the young man prior. She seemed to be much the same way as he, in regards to her quiet demeanor, and almost remorseful eyes. But it was the thought of her eyes that caused the realization, that she didn't understand a word of what had been said prior, or likely even before he had arrived. This poor woman was taking her last breaths, and she was none-the-wiser.

The phrase of a nail in the coffin came to his mind, but he knew no such preparations would be made. Not for someone of the Cheyenne. But what had she done? It was at this moment the door swung open again, showing a young-faced and scrawny man, wearing a thick leather ammo belt around his waist—a gleaming iron tucked neatly into the holster—and badge adorned upright on his vest. "Mr Williams?" The reedy voice called. "We're ready. May we get a move along?" the lad asked, storming over to the jail cell determinedly.

"The folks've waited for a chance to get back at these bastards for what they did to our town," he said, fumbling a key into the cell door as he spoke.

Will found himself slowly rising to his feet, eyes held intently on the young man as he barged into the cell. "C'mon now, move!" The deputy barked, stepping aside as he gestured to the door. The woman shuffled back, shaking as she spoke in her tongue. "I said move!" The young lad raised, pulling the iron from his holster to hover at his side. At this moment, Will felt a growing rage bubbling inside him, with the glint of the barrel finally causing him to snap, as he slowly approached. He rolled his neck, causing it to crack as he let out a heavy huff. The lad didn't notice the looming shadow behind him until it was too late.

Wills hand snapped out, a vice grip that made the deputy drop his iron with a clatter, before yanking him aside. "Gah!" The scrawny deputy cried out, catching himself on the bars as he watched Will approach the woman. At first, she backed away again, hitting the corner as she shook violently, but Will didn't approach further. He got down to one knee, holding one hand out to her as he softened his gaze.

"You..." the young lad growled, skittering forward to grab his iron, before standing upright again. "Fucking squaw-man." But his insult was silenced by a glare Will shot over his shoulder. The woman seemed to notice the disconnect, and before will looked back, he felt her hand in his, soft and smaller then his. He looked back at her, taking a moment to gaze into her eyes before slowly rising. He couldn't find the words to apologize, even though she wouldn't understand regardless, he knew what he was about to do.

"You gotta learn, kid." Will started, moving his hand to the womans arm as he turned. "Sometimes..." But he couldn't find the words, knowing what he wanted to say would certainly brand him. "It's easier to coherce, rather then force." He finished, ignoring the shaking barrel in the deputys hand, as he walked out of the cell, to the backdoor where the cloudless day shone brightly through the crack in the door.