Cooter spent the next couple of minutes with the man’s head cradled in his lap. The prisoner’s eyes were unfocused and slightly clouded, and his face had grown ashy. Even so, he looked up at Cooter and smiled, “Cap’n?” he called out hoarsely. “Cap’n, I did as ordered.”
Cooter replied to him in hushed whispered words, his face stoic and unreadable, even to Kre who knew him better than most. The two whispered to each other for a few seconds more, the prisoner in fevered hisses and the villager in calm, steady tones. It seemed that everyone was trying to lean in to hear what was being said, including the two Rangers.
A wet cough interrupted the man’s next attempt to speak and his voice carried across the street, “…caught… tried… captain…”
Cooter nodded and laid a hand across the man’s forehead. “Rest now soldier, you’ve done a fine service.” After a few seconds, Cooter slid his hand down and closed the man’s eyes.
A couple of coins clattered to the ground next to him. “For the burial,” said the Ranger who had struck the man. There was very little emotion in his voice. This was simply another kind of transaction for him.
“Did you know him?” the other Ranger asked casually, his eyes focused sharply on the two men in the street. “He seemed to know you.”
Cooter shook his head, “I must have reminded him of someone, but the man was clearly addled. You heard his nonsense.”
“What did he say there, at the end?” The Ranger was persistent, but not demanding. Not yet at least.
“Poor man didn’t know day from night in his state. He was just saying words. Trying to clear his conscience, I suppose. It was all I could do just to listen and give him peace. No man deserves any less, even criminals.”
The Ranger nodded after a moment’s thought. “I see,” he said flatly. “I’m not surprised that his last moments were incoherent. He’s been living in the wild for years now, maybe even the better part of a decade, given his record.”
“What was his name?” Cooter asked.
“No idea,” the Ranger shrugged. “All we ever had was a description and a drawing. We called him Sir Feral.”
Cooter’s mask of indifference broke then as he snorted and chuckled. “A fine name for a wild man such as this. We’ll take care of his body here. You gentlemen should carry on to the fort before you lose the light.”
The Ranger nodded again, though he still seemed to be pondering something as he watched the two men on the ground. “And your name, noble sir?”
Cooter paused for the briefest of moments before answering, “Cootsman. Folks call me Cooter.”
The Ranger nodded a final time before turning to rejoin his companion. By the time the third Ranger came out of the store, the assembled townsfolk had already helped Cooter wrap the body and collect his dropped parcels. Pete’s older brother was bringing the wagon up from the inn to cart the body off to the cemetery, just on the other side of town.
Kre had caught up to Cooter as he made for the road back to the homesteads, “Why’d you help that awful man?” the child asked his elder.
Cootsman paused his stride and turned to face the boy. Kneeling in front of Kre, his hand moved up slowly to tap the boy lightly on the cheek, a light, playful replication of a slap, and then tapped his finger on Kre’s nose, “There was nothing awful about that man except in the way he was treated. Even so, it doesn’t matter who they are or what they’ve done. Every person deserves peace of soul and mind and it’s a gentleman’s duty to offer it to those in need. Never forget that.”