Arthur took the binoculars. His cold fingers touched Charles' warm ones for a shy moment. He held his breath.
“Why haven’t they hanged Sean, I wonder?” Arthur whispered hoarsely, swallowing to combat the dryness in his mouth. His shirt rubbed painfully against the freshly stitched wounds on his shoulder. The bear had hit him hard. But not hard enough to send him to his deathbed.
“I think he’s bait… ,” Charles blurted out, taking up more space between them. Arthur blinked slightly and focused his gaze on the man next to him. Charles' hair looked almost silvery in the dim moonlight. His eyes had a knowing gleam that only came from someone who had already seen too much of the world. “or they want to trial him publicly.”
Behind them, boots crunched on the sand-covered gravel. A dark figure knelt down beside them. “Gentlemen,” Trelawny greeted them, tipping his hat. The man looked exhausted. “Sean is being moved up the Upper Montana… then to a federal prison out west.”
Next to Arthur, Charles buried his face in his hands and cursed softly. He himself felt pressured by the information. They were running out of time—it was slipping away like sand through their fingers. “Well...” Arthur muttered and bit his cheek. “We can’t be rescuing people from some federal prison. We either rescue him now or…” Arthur disliked both options, “cut him loose.”
“We're not cutting anyone loose,” Charles vehemently objected, glaring at Arthur.
“Of course not,” Arthur conceded, staring at the city before them...