James Benjamin Franklin, no relation to the real Benjamin Franklin, attorney at law, was at the stagecoach station waiting for them to hook up the horses for the run to Ute City. It was eleven p.m., and in his vest pocket was a stay of execution and a motion for a new trial for his client, Danny Deaver. They were hanging Danny Deaver in the morning—or rather, at noon tomorrow.

​

He had not represented Deaver at his trial, where he was found guilty of the murder of Bud Philpot, a popular stagecoach driver in Ute City. Deaver had shot Philpot at Bottleneck Pass, a stretch of the stage route noted for holdups. He thought he had killed him and took the strongbox. But Philpot wasn’t dead, and his horses knew it. They took him on into Ute City, where, before he died, he told the sheriff that Deaver had shot him.

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The sheriff immediately rounded up an infuriated posse. As stated, Philpot was well liked there. They caught Deaver at his hideout as he was trying to pry open the strongbox. The sheriff knew where Deaver was because Deaver was a well-known criminal who had just got out of prison, and the sheriff had been keeping an eye on him.

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All the evidence, which included all his prior convictions, was overwhelming, and Deaver’s young, court-appointed attorney was no match for the veteran prosecutor. The trial started at nine and went to the jury at ten. But when the jury hadn’t reached a verdict by noon, the judge told them they would break for lunch at Granny Gee’s and go back to work at one. They got back at one-thirty. They had all had seconds on dessert.

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“Okay, jury,” began the judge. “You may—”

But before the judge could say another word, the jury foreman rose and cut him off.

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“Never mind all that, Judge. We already found him guilty.”

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The reason they didn’t announce their decision before noon was that if they had, they wouldn’t have got a free lunch.

The judge pronounced sentence: “Death by hanging on the thirty-first of this month.”

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The Deaver family, way over in Coal Valley, were poor miner folks, but somehow they scraped up James’s fee. James was also from there, and it was common knowledge that he had once gotten a stay of execution and a new trial for a condemned man. He then got him off at the retrial.

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“What time does the stage get to Ute City, Stationmaster?”

“A little before midnight.”

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That will work, he thought. I’ll give the deputy on duty the stay and my client the good news. Then, first thing in the morning, I’ll file my motion for a new trial.

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“Go ahead and get on board, sir. You’re the only passenger we’ve got tonight. The driver will be along shortly.”

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James got on board and sat down. The stage bolted forward. The ride went smoothly, the driver keeping his team at a steady, even pace. Time passed, and James reckoned that they were only a couple of miles from Ute City now when the driver hollered back to him.

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“We’re coming to Bottleneck Pass now, Mr. Lawyer Sir. Better keep your head down if you don’t want it to get blown off, that is. We might get robbed again.”

“How did you know I was a lawyer?”

“I just knew. That’s all.”

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That’s when the shot rang out. The horses came to a dead stop. Now what to do, he wondered. Holler out to the driver and give himself away? Get out and make a run for it in a pitch-black night over rocky, cliff terrain? Or just wait it out and see what happens?

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He chose the latter, and after fifteen or so minutes, nothing happened.

He then chose the first option.

“Driver, you okay? You okay?”

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No answer.

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He got out and climbed up to the driver’s seat, but there was no driver. His shotgun was there, and the strongbox was there, but the driver was nowhere to be seen. He looked around for blood. It was pitch-black out, and he couldn’t see any.

The horses remained in place, and he wondered why. He knew that when Philpot got shot, the horses continued on their own to Ute City. But no, not tonight. He picked up the reins and shook them a couple of times, but got no response. He looked around for a whip but couldn’t find one. He looked for a box or rocks because he knew that some stagecoach drivers kept rocks on hand to throw at their horses to get them to run faster when they were being chased by robbers, but found none. He tried a couple more tongue clicks and shook the reins a couple more times, but still nothing.

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He couldn’t be stuck here all night until someone came looking for him in the morning. He might not get back in time for the hanging at noon. And he certainly couldn’t take off unarmed on foot with a bad guy out there somewhere.

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Then suddenly, the clouds broke. The sky cleared. The moon was out now. He pulled out his watch and looked at it. It was midnight. Then the moon disappeared again, and that’s when the horses took off. He’d make it in time now, after all.

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Thirty minutes later, the team pulled into Ute City and stopped in front of the stagecoach office. He jumped out and ran inside.

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“Stationmaster! Stationmaster! We got held up and shot at at Bottleneck Pass. I don’t know what happened to the driver. He just disappeared somehow. Where’s the sheriff’s office? I’ll go tell them what happened.”

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“On the other side of the street, at the end of the block. But I doubt if there’s anyone there. They had some business to take care of.”

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James took off running and saw that there was a light on at the sheriff’s office. Out of breath, he entered, and there was the sheriff himself.

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“What can I do for you, young man? I’m about to close up.”

“Sheriff,” he gasped, “I was on the stage tonight, and we got shot at at Bottleneck Pass. But first things first.”

He reached into his pocket, took out the stay of execution, and handed it to him. The sheriff looked at it and scrunched up his face.

“You’re literally a day late and a dollar short, Mr. Lawyer Sir.”

“Huh?”

“We hung Danny Deaver first thing this morning.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the thirty-first.”

“I thought you hung people at noon.”

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“Normally we do, but last night a bunch of Philpot’s buddies got drunk, stormed the jail, and threatened to hang him right after midnight if I didn’t. The deputy on duty came and got me. Well, I couldn’t have them break in and execute, so to speak, vigilante justice now, could I, since I’m up for reelection this year as a law-and-order candidate? So I told them I’d hang him at twelve-oh-one, and I did. It was all legal. It was the thirty-first.”

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James collapsed into the nearest chair.

“Where’s the body?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re the sheriff. You’re supposed to know.”

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“Look, after the hanging, I went and woke up the funeral home director and told him to go get Deaver. He came back and told me he wasn’t there. No telling what the mob did with him. My guess is they dragged him out into the wilds somewhere for God’s creatures to dispose of.”

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“What time does the telegraph office open tomorrow morning? I mean, today?”

“Eight.”

“Do you know when the next stage to Coal Valley is?”

“The nine-ten.”

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It was one a.m. when James checked into a hotel and crashed. At eight, he telegraphed Deaver’s folks about what had happened. At eight-thirty, he bought his ticket, sat down in an easy chair at the station, and fell asleep. At nine, the stationmaster shook him awake.

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“Sir, the stage is here. Time to board.”

James went out the front door, and there they were: the same team of horses from last night.

“You’re Philpot’s team, aren’t you?”

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The horses all whinnied and nodded their heads up and down.

“That’s why you held me up last night, isn’t it? You wanted to make sure that I didn’t get there until after they hung Danny Deaver, right?”

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Again, the horses whinnied and nodded their heads up and down.

“Thanks a lot.”

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“Sir.”

It was the stationmaster.

“If you’re done talking to the horses now, would you please board?”

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He boarded to the stifled chortles of the passengers. For the rest of the trip home, he never said a word.