Hopes and Dreams

2026 August Round-Up Challenge

By jfclover

~*~*~*~*~

After three long days, I’m ready to bang my head against the wall.  I’m not good at being confined, but I doubt anyone my age or with my youthful energy is happy to sit behind bars and do nothing.  I didn’t kill Johnny Ray, but the sheriff needs proof.  The eyewitness says, “Joe Cartwright’s your man, Roy.  Saw him with my own eyes.”

That’s a damn lie.  I was nowhere near Johnny Ray Nolan, and since I can’t prove my whereabouts, the city funds have to pay for my food and anything else I may need while I’m incarcerated. Some would say that no one deserves to die, but Johnny Ray is a bad seed.  I’ve known him since my school days.  He taunted the teacher and every girl in the classroom.  He never had a kind word for anyone except for his friend Jimmy Bowland.  Those two were as thick as thieves ten years ago, and they’re still as close as ever.  If there’s trouble at a dance, Johnny and Jimmy are the culprits.  If there’s a brawl at the local saloon, it’s those two who usually start the ruckus.

I’ve never had anything to do with either of them.  They aren’t my idea of a fun time, and killing Johnny never crossed my mind.  I have no reason to do him harm, and I have no clue why Mr. Bradford, the eyewitness, thinks he saw me running from the scene of the crime.  Sure, I was in town that night, and sure, I had a couple of beers at the Silver Dollar, but leaving the saloon and murdering a man is the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.

Pa hired Hiram Wood.  The inquest had been yesterday, and I was bound over to stand trial as soon as the circuit judge got to town.  Mr. Wood gave a reasonable statement about things moving too fast and that an eyewitness wasn’t enough to convict a man of murder, but Roy insisted that he had no choice but to do as the law instructed.  And so, I sit behind bars and await the trial.

My father makes a daily appearance.  He says he’ll stay at the International House during the proceedings, but he doesn’t think a trial will last more than a day.   “Mr. Wood is right.  One eyewitness isn’t enough to convict.” 

I pray that Pa isn’t pulling my leg with his positive thinking, although I’m not so sure.  Hoss and I have talked over the last couple of days, and he’s more concerned than he lets on.  In fact, he’s downright angry at everything and everyone.  And just like Pa tries to soothe my soul, I do the same for Hoss.  I pass Pa’s positive thinking his way.

The only connection I ever had with Johnny Ray was about five years ago when we both courted the same gal.  The three of us were just youngsters, stupid and naïve about the ways of the world.  Martha Ann Woodbury was a flirt—a pretty girl—but she knew what she was doing, and Johnny Ray and I were too young to recognize the wiles of a woman.  She played us off each other until there was a schoolyard fight in her honor.  Two men—boys—were fighting over her.  She was delighted and didn’t much care about the outcome.   One of us would take her to the dance.  The other would be shamed and ridiculed for weeks to come.

I learned a lot from Martha Ann.  Yes, I took her to the dance that Saturday night, but I never asked her out again.  It wasn’t immediate, but within days of the battle with Johnny Ray, I realized what kind of girl she really was, and I wanted nothing to do with her.  It didn’t matter that she was the prettiest girl in the class, and I didn’t care if I ever spoke to another girl for the rest of my life.  I was done with females.  Done forever.

~*~*~

I stand on my cot and stare through the bars at the outside world.  From my vantage point, there isn’t much to see, just an alleyway full of empty barrels and a handful of trash.  No mountains or the smell of pines drifts into the cell, not like at home, not like standing at my bedroom window on the Ponderosa.

A man doesn’t realize what he has till it’s taken from him.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’ve spent a night or two in Roy’s jail after a silly saloon brawl, which was never my fault, but letter-of-the-law Coffee thinks it’s his duty to teach young folks like me a lesson.  I will sleep it off in his cell, and Pa will come the next morning and bail me out.  My father won’t be happy.  He’ll find extra chores to keep me entertained until he thinks I’ve paid my dues.  I’ve chopped more firewood and kindling for Hop Sing than either of my brothers, and if the trial goes well, I feel that chopping a bit more will be part of my future. The sheriff comes to give me the news.  He reads the telegram from Judge Taylor.

Arriving in Virginia City late on the twenty-third.

Expect the trial to commence at nine sharp on the twenty-fourth. 

Judge Zebulan Taylor.

“That’s Wednesday morning, Little Joe.”

“Yessir.  I know.”

After the telegram is read and after the sheriff walks back to his desk, I clutch the cell bars with both hands.  Mr. Wood and I have talked twice.  He has my story written down and probably memorized.  That way he won’t hesitate in the courtroom.  His words will be loud and clear. 

My father will be coming soon.  He’ll bring two hot lunches from Miss Daisy’s Café, and we’ll pretend that nothing’s amiss.  His reassurances are all I have.  I hope, and I dream.  I have nothing else to lean on before I’m either free or sentenced to death.

The End

8 – 2026