She's right where he left her, head down and arms crossed, leaning against a post. She's trying to attract as little attention as possible as she listens in, her expression bereft of all emotion.

(She sees that ridiculous grin on his face, too, and it almost gets a laugh out of her. Almost.)


She moves to the yard after Gene disappears inside the courthouse and waits against a tree. Not the one they were hanging men from when they first rode in; but she's got a good view of the towering old oak, overgrown in twisted hemp cords. Her eyes flick to the wooden gallery on one side of the courthouse, and not even the heavy April air can ward off the chill that races down her spine.

Gene better not be long.