The Falcon's Capture
The next morning, the Falcon awoke to dark brick walls. Having slept fitfully, his head ached and he groaned as he pulled two hands up to his hair. The night before felt like an awful dream. He could've easily imagined himself waking up back in the wilderness with Sandy by his side to laugh the whole thing off with. But Sandy, the wilderness, and his freedom were all gone. He wasn't sure when he'd see any of them again.
Despair turned into anger towards himself. Before he had even stepped into that bank, his plan was likely already ruined thanks to that stupid hill. Had he been more careful, he would've found a better way to approach the town without being seen. He could've even avoided it altogether. The four bags of coin weren't worth any of this trouble, that was for sure.
He laid there on the cold stone bed, letting his shame fester for an unknown amount of time. Only when he finally became bored of feeling sorry for himself did he start to sit up. It clearly wasn't doing him any good, after all. There was still hope left, or he wasn't an outlaw.
For the first time since being thrown in, he got a good look at his surroundings. The rectangular room was small, maybe six feet wide and six feet to the roof. Three walls were made of tightly-packed brick while the fourth was made of thick metal bars, a gate on one end. Carefully cleaned, the cell was devoid of any furniture apart from the bed the Falcon was sitting on. The only thing he could think of right now was escape, however, and as soon as he got up he made for the bars.
Grabbing the gate end, he shook at the bars furiously. The metal rattled in place but otherwise didn't budge. Reaching a thin arm through the bars, he felt around until his fingers touched a lock. But that too proved fruitless. Although he pulled at it and knocked it around with stubborn desperation, without a key he had little chance. He shoved his arm back to his side with a frustrated growl, kicking the gate one more time. Clearly he wouldn't be getting out of here the fast way. He'd have to be clever. There was still hope.
Looking outside didn't offer him any hints yet, though. He could see the beginning of a hallway, the other side a blank brick wall while the cells down his side appeared to be empty, judging by the lack of other sounds. Nearby was a door with light shining through a little window. The other side of it was difficult to make out, however.
Everything in mind, the Falcon started to pace along the bars. But what was supposed to be the beginnings of an escape plan were nothing more than an endless stream of what ifs. Walking back and forth only made it more apparent how cramped his cell was which didn't help his nerves one bit. He began to feel antsy, wishing he could breathe the outside air again. If only he could snatch a key from a guard and use it to open the lock. If only he had a shovel, then maybe he could dig his way out.
Christ, what was wrong with him? It was only day one!
Suddenly he heard a creaking noise. Stopping in his tracks, he turned to see the door at the end of the hallway opening. A familiar-looking man came out, dressed in a cowhide vest. As he approached the cell, the Falcon realized it was Rory. Instinctively, he backed away from the bars, his face twisting in the beginnings of a scowl. He wanted nothing to do with someone that assisted in his capture.
"Good morning," Rory said flatly but not betraying any harm. He rested one hand on a metal bar before pulling something out with the other. "I have your hat."
Despite himself, the Falcon rushed forward, taking Rory by surprise. Gritting his teeth, he darted his arm between the bars, reaching for his hat.
"Give it back to me!" He snapped as he snatched it away.
"Woah, woah, alright..." Rory backed up a little, frowning as he watched the outlaw inspect it for damages, "But I don't think Amos will let you keep it long. As soon as he gets here, he'll be wanting you in stripes. Strict town policy, y'know."
The Falcon glared as he placed his hat back onto his head. "Stripes or no stripes, I'm getting out of here. Now where's Sandy? Is she okay?"
"Sandy? Is that your horse's name?" There was a hint of disbelief in his voice, and the Falcon's heart dropped a little when Rory's gaze lowered. "She's recovering. I saw her get taken to the stables at the edge of town this morning. She'll get good treatment there, I'm sure."
He couldn't tell if Rory was coating the tale in sugar just to please him or not. Either way, the words didn't work on him. Drawing closer, he put his hands on the bars. "I want to see her for myself."
To his dismay, the other man shook his head. "Sorry, partner. I'm afraid letting you out of here is not my decision to make. I suggest you keep your mind off escaping, too. It won't do you any good. These cells are all locked tight."
Fury quickly began to bubble within him again and his hands clenched tighter around the bars until the bones of them were visible. In an attempt to control himself and his dignity, however, he loudly laughed and pressed his face against the bars with a wild, straight-toothed grin.
"You only say that because it'll be your problem when I get out," He said through his clenched teeth, "You and this whole prison will be the joke of the town. Nobody can cage the Night Falcon!"
Rory merely stood there outside the cell, his expression unchanging. There was not a hint of fear in the way he frowned. Not even anger. At last he began to walk away, heading for the door. The reaction quickly blew out the Falcon's fire, and in his moment of hesitation, Rory was already gone. He was alone in the cell once more with no more of an escape plan than he started out with.
So long as Rory was telling the truth, Sandy was in good hands somewhere. But it made for little relief. She was still miles away from him, and as he pulled his hands off of the bars and approached his bed to sit down, Rory's last couple words stuck in his mind.
~~~~~
After what felt like an hour, the door eventually opened again. The Falcon looked up from his hat and quickly put it back on. This time it was Amos, and the outlaw immediately grimaced upon seeing him. The sheriff was in no doubt the most to blame for his capture. He couldn't think of anybody he wanted to talk to less. Much to his annoyance, though, the gruff voice began to speak.
"Oh look, I see you got your hat back. You haven't been gettin' in and out, have you?"
The outlaw's only response was a glare. For a moment Amos had the nerve to smile, stepping close to the bars that kept the two apart. But then his old face went serious as he pulled out a small sheet of yellowed paper.
"Let's see, then... What's your legal name in full?"
The very thought of this man knowing his name made his blood boil. Clenching his fists against the edge of the stone bed, he let out a stubborn huff. "You don't need to know."
In reply, Amos scoffed, "Well okay, if you're not going to tell me, then I'll just start calling you Birdy from now on. How does that sound?"
The Falcon's mouth went dry. Usually he would end such mockery then and there, but now all of his power was stripped from him. Weighing out his options, he finally averted his gaze and grumbled, "Samuel Tilley."
The sheriff proceeded to scribble something down on the paper with a pencil, muttering "Works every time..." to himself as he went before raising his head again, "And your date of birth?"
"June 4th, 1870."
This led to some more scribbling. When Amos looked back up towards the sullen prisoner, any air of sarcasm quickly vanished from his face. He loudly cleared his throat, his wrinkles tightening in a frown.
"Now, Samuel Tilley... I imagine you're well aware of what you're in here for given your little chase last night. Something to know about this town is that we don't take kindly to your type. That especially goes for me, and if I have anything to say about it, you'll be too bent over and gray to ride ever again by the time you get out of this here cell."
Samuel's back straightened and he instinctively began to retort, "But I'll-"
"I ain't finished yet," Amos interrupted, "Your kind of crime is done only by the lowest of the low. The money in that bank was earned by our people through pain-staking, honest work. Many of them have families and children they have to feed. But who am I kidding? I'm sure a man like you only has enough brains to think about his own tiny little self."
That's not true, Samuel thought several times, but managed to hold his tongue. His jaws only clenched harder as he listened to the sheriff give more and more wood to the fire. When he was finally done, silence filled the room for a good while. Barely managing to compose himself, Samuel shook his head.
"Then you don't know me," He said in a low, sullen voice, "You don't know me at all."
Amos squinted at him for another moment before turning away from the cell. "If the Night Falcon is all you are, then I think I know plenty. I'll come back with your new clothes, you could use some."
As soon as the door closed, Samuel got to his feet. In the tiny cell, he paced a few times before throwing his pent-up tension against the brick wall in a furious kick. The sound echoed through the prison and he barely stopped himself from adding a scream of anger to it. How dare that old man insult him? How righteous did he think he was? Being locked up in a cramped cage was bad enough, but the insults enraged him far more in that moment. Had it been any other day, he could've taught that sheriff a good lesson on keeping his mouth shut.
With an irritated groan, he eventually laid back down on the bed, staring up at the low ceiling. How much more of this would he have to endure? Suddenly the answer was uncertain. When it came to robbing a town, he could easily come up with three good plans in an instant. But now his mind was frustratingly blank. He'd never been captured before, after all. Once there was a time that it seemed to be a good thing. Yet it only just dawned on him that he'd never escaped before, either.
At last his anger began to fizzle out. A dark shadow of hopelessness replaced it. Lifting his head off the stone to remove his hat, Samuel stared up at it as he laid there one last time before Amos would probably come and take it away. Through the bullet hole he could see the gray roof where a clear blue sky would normally be. It contrasted starkly against the hat's soft black felt.
I have to get out of here, a voice within him spoke. Lowering the hat to his chest with a sigh, he thought about something that meant much more to him. Sandy. He could still recall the feeling of her soft tan mane through his fingers. The way she made him laugh when she playfully nudged his neck. Her neverending loyalty despite all that she had been through.
If he was going to escape for anything, it would be her. That was his promise.
~~~~~
That night, Rory came to sit next to Amos in his room, his own bowl of mixed vegetable soup clinking against the antique table. It was the first time the two had been alone together following a long day of getting the officers back in check, not to mention their newest inmate in months. After they both said grace under the glow of candlelight, Rory was first to start eating. Amos, on the other hand, only lifted a spoon before beginning to talk.
"You spoke to that Samuel, didn't you?"
As the sheriff drew the spoon to his mouth, Rory nodded. "Sorry, you were still asleep then. I don't assume you missed a lot, at least."
Amos ate for a moment and shrugged, "That's alright. I made sure to give him a good chewin' when I came to. He's about as dirty as I imagined but he sure didn't have much to say. Figures."
Upon hearing this, Rory's eyes widened a little. "Really? When I was in there, he went on and on about how he was going to escape and wantin' to see his horse again."
The older man snorted and smirked a little at the thought, "Well then, maybe he's finally startin' to realize he's stuck in there."
Rory's only response was a dull hum. For the next minute or so there was only silence as they continued eating. There was no doubt in Rory's mind that the Falcon was a low thief as his uncle said, but something from their encounter still nagged at his mind...
"Y'know," He began, "I almost feel bad for the guy. You don't think it would hurt to walk him to the stables one time? In chains, of course."
Amos' face quickly tightened in a scowl, however. His next words came out in an angry rasp, the conviction clear in his fast tone. "He's not stepping a single foot out of that cell. If you give him a single crumb more than he deserves, he'll only start asking for more. It's how outlaws like him are made, Rory. It's no use trying to satisfy their greed."
"Okay, okay, I know..." the younger man replied with a slight wince. Thankfully, Amos cooled down pretty quickly, letting out a sigh. When he spoke again his tone was much more gentle.
"Look, my dear nephew. I have to tell you these things because soon you'll be the one making these decisions instead of me. I don't doubt you'll do what's right for this town, but even I'm rough around the edges sometimes. It's a tough job being a sheriff."
A bit taken aback by his words, Rory chuckled nervously. "But not soon! You still have a long time to go yet... don't you?"
To his concern, Amos merely nibbled at his cheek. "Maybe so..." was all he said, suddenly looking much older to Rory in that moment. Before he could say anything more on the topic, however, his uncle pushed his chair back and began to stand up.
"I'm going to go to bed now. It's getting late."
As he began to walk away, Rory frowned, unable to ignore the amount of soup in his bowl. "But what about your dinner? There's still some left."
"That's alright, I'm not hungry," Amos said with a small shake of his head, "You should be getting some sleep, too."
Although this did little to relieve him, Rory slowly nodded. "I suppose so," He murmured, carefully picking up the bowls as he got to his feet. He tried to tell himself that Amos would be alright. If last night proved anything, he was still fit as a fiddle in spite of his age. But in all the years that they'd worked together, he was rarely that solemn when it came to the topic. He often refused to even acknowledge that he was getting old.
In any case, though, only tomorrow could tell. Just before leaving, Rory checked in one last time to see Amos already lying in bed. His eyes flickered lazily open as his nephew grabbed a candle off of a shelf and blew it out. The light quickly dimmed to only the moonlight shining gently through the window.
"Goodnight, Amos."
"Goodnight."
Starting to feel a little better then, Rory turned and quietly left the room.