Lucianne Dove stepped out of the carriage and gazed at what stood before her only fifty yards away. She'd seen gallows before. Just none that were meant to take her own life. The look on her face was one of indifference. She might as well have been gazing at fog or a barren lifeless landscape. Clearly, she didn't care what was about to happen. The months she'd spent in jail had given her plenty of time to come to terms with her fate. So she held herself with dignity, head high, and gave no hint of the sort of life she had led.

The jailer, Earl Dunlop, clutched her arm and guided her past the massive, unruly mob that had come to watch her hang. She paid no mind to the earsplitting jeers that fired from their mouths as they jostled with the blockade of twenty special deputies who worked to keep them at bay.

“Damn, dirty, murdering whore!"

"You'll be buzzard bait directly.”

Earl’s grasp grew protective and he marveled at Lucianne’s composure. The insults didn’t seem to bother her at all. He didn’t know many men who could face what Lucianne was facing and not quake like a Colorado Aspen.

“You’ve been real decent, Earl,” she suddenly said as they stepped toward the scaffold. He acknowledged the compliment with an involuntary knit of his lips and his fingers tightened on her arm. He took a deep breath in a vain attempt to quiet his feelings. He had liked Lucianne just fine before, when he’d known her as many men in town had known her, by what she’d do for a dollar. But now, having spent so much time with her while she’d bided her time in jail, Earl knew her as a fellow human being and he was troubled by what was about to happen. The jury had gotten it wrong. Earl was certain of that. Normally he was all for stringin’ ‘em up and watchin’ ‘em drop, but it was different this time. Lucianne was no murderer. She had a compassionate heart. She wasn't at all like those foul-mouthed hellcats at Rose Benjamin’s bagnio. Nor was she like the whores at that harridan’s, Nellie G. Those opium-smoking harlots would plug a patron for a nickel’s worth of silver if they thought they could get away with it. Lucianne had never plied her trade out of one of those high volume parlor houses. And she hadn't operated out of some dinky, dilapidated crib. True, she’d lived on D Street, but in a cottage that was a cut above. It had been larger than most and handsomely furnished. Quiet, too. With none of that bawdy fanfare. Earl had paid Lucianne a visit more times than he cared to count because aside from being the best looking lady to ever work the row, she’d been pleasing to talk to and it had felt good just being around her.

They reached the platform risers and paused. Earl watched Lucianne look up. Her face was delicate and sensuous. When she turned and looked at him, he didn’t look away. He stared into her eyes—those strange, enchanting eyes, the color of Comstock gold. Nobody had eyes like Lucianne.

She looked back at the scaffold. There were more than fifty steps to climb. The stage had been set high so that all who came would have an unimpeded view. It didn't seem right to Earl, not this time. But he didn’t let on what he was thinking. He’d do his job. He’d see it through. They began to climb.

The month was May. The morning was bleak. The sky was gray and dank with air that was abnormally chilled. An icy breeze whipped about Lucianne’s skin, but she didn’t feel it. Life had been harsh and lonely and she had become numb to many things. So what if death was imminent? So what if she'd been convicted of a crime she didn’t commit? All that mattered now was Janie, a sweet snippet of a thing she’d never even met. How was she to get a message to her now? Lucianne had confided in no one. There had been no one to trust and the sheriff had denied her request to bring the child to the jail. Even if he had allowed it, he wouldn't have left them alone.

Her mind raced. How to let the little girl know? If she could just think of something Janie would have a shot at a better life. She’d have choices. Choices that assured she’d be something more than a mining town whore.

Sneers reached her ears. For the first time she gave thought to the sea of people waiting to watch her die. They'd come from near and far. Working class and upper class. Miners, bankers, storekeepers, drunks and ne’er-do-wells. Decent women and the not-so-decent. Housekeepers, seamstresses, milliners and servants. Maybe they’d come to see justice done. Maybe. But it was more likely they'd come to be entertained. They'd come for that cheap thrill. Cheap for them anyway.

She closed her eyes a moment and when she opened them she noticed the children. Mothers had brought their children and she was the monster? Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach, as if some giant hand had encircled her waist and was squeezing the breath from her. Breathe. Breathe! Don’t let them see you miserable.

A woman’s voice rang out. “Burn in hell, harlot!”

Hell? Life had been hell. The loneliness had been hell. Whatever happened after this couldn’t be any worse than that. Even if it was oblivion, at least she’d be at peace. Blessed peace. Her muscles relaxed and she found the strength to go on. But what about Janie?

They reached the platform and Earl guided her to a trapdoor. He let go of her arm and she stood alone. Funny how she wasn’t scared. Maybe because her mind was on the little girl. Maybe because she was too tired to care. Whatever the reason, she stood before the noose and accepted her fate with apathy. The executioner stepped forward and slipped a cover over her head.

“No,” she said softly. “I want to see.”

He pulled it off and moved away. She looked about. The gallows had been built in a gulch about a mile out of town. Spectators covered the ground. Some crowded close while others stood back near hillsides that edged the sloping ravine. She noticed her coffin draped in black. The undertaker stared at her, appropriately solemn, waiting for the moment he could acquire his prize. She searched the faces of the crowd. He wasn’t there, but then she hadn’t expected him to be. She didn’t know if she was glad about that or not. Glad because...

It didn’t matter. That part of her life was a distant echo. He had done one decent thing—for his own selfish reasons to be sure—but there'd been a hint of softness in his eye or so it seemed. She’d made him a promise and she had betrayed that promise by coming back—

She felt the rope slip over her head. She felt it yanked snugly about her neck. A priest from St. Mary’s Catholic Church began to render words intended to comfort. “Forgiveness is the business of the Lord. Mercy is...”

She didn’t hear the rest.

Janie. What about Janie?

Then she spotted the reporters from the various papers of Gold Hill and Virginia City. There were five of them, busily writing down the words of the priest. This was her chance—her only chance. Speak. Speak now!

“I have something to say,” she began, catching everyone off guard. The priest fell silent. The reporters stared at her, pencils poised above their tablets of paper. “Please. Please tell Janie to get in touch with her little sister.”

The reporters scribbled zealously. She watched them finish and look for more. But that was all she had to say. It was the best she could do though she doubted it would be enough.

“We beseech Thee, O Lord...”

The priest’s words were a distant drone, Lucianne’s thoughts a palisade to all thoughts but her own. She had wanted Janie to make up for so much. She’d been foolish to think she could accomplish what she’d set out to accomplish, but the urge to try had been overwhelming. She had rolled the dice and risked it all. If she’d been successful, she and Janie would have had a life worth living. But she’d failed and failure meant death.

“...free from the perils of this mortal life...”

But what was so bad about death anyway? Her life had amounted to nothing. Lots of women in her same situation had killed themselves just to escape the misery they felt. So what if her life ended today? She was nobody. She mattered to no one. Janie had been her chance to remedy that. And she’d muffed it. If only there was a way to make things right.

“May the Lord have mercy upon your soul.”

A momentary pause and then the trapdoor clacked open. Lucianne involuntarily gasped a last breath as she swooshed through.
The crowd let out a sort of surprised shriek as if what they'd come to witness had caught them by surprise. They shrieked a second time, louder this time when Lucianne bounced at the end of the tether. The snap of her neck ripped the air and her body shuddered. Then the throng abruptly hushed as a grim pall overtook them. Everyone stared at Lucianne. Her body dangled, eyes open, and gently twisted to and fro.

A sudden zephyr came from nowhere and jolted the crowd. It grew in size and raged through the ravine. Louder and louder. Its reverberating moan sounded as if unseen forces were mourning the loss of life while at the same time ushering it to an invisible province where it wasn’t lost at all. Dust gusted, swirled then blew. Men held onto their hats, women their bonnets, shawls and capes. Children clung to their mothers and babies cried as the moaning gale grew shriller.

Earl was near tears. We done wrong. God’s sayin’ so. “Bastards, all of us!” he shouted, his words snuffed out by the deafening wind.

It was five minutes before the squall was gone, its siren scream replaced by the din of a relieved and blathering crowd. Now Lucianne’s body could be lowered and checked for signs of life. The witnessing physician came forward and finding no pulse, motioned to the sheriff.