Applejack was just beginning to close her eyes again when the Sheriff arrived.
"Well, look at you. We been treatin' you a lot nicer'n you deserve, Miss. Got you some quarters f'r the night, a nice cozy bed."
Applejack swung her legs off the bed, sitting up slowly. "If'n it's all the same to you, Sheriff, sir, Ah'd rather be back at mah apple-orchards. It'll be Harvest time soon."
Something about the way Applejack spoke the word "Harvest" gave the Sheriff a feel of icicles sliding down his spine. Chiding himself for quailing before a mere girl, he sat down in a rough-hewn wooden chair, facing Applejack's cell.
"Welp. You won't hang, like reg'lar."
Applejack grunted her assent.
"So, I'm fixin' to burn you. That oughta do it."
"Maybe." Applejack turned away from the Sheriff.
"Now you look here, Miss." The sheriff struck his hand against Applejack's cell bars. "You ain't got no respect for the laws of Man, and you ain't got no respect for the Word of God, either. Man gets hung, he oughta die."
"Sheriff, ya forgot summin'."
"What?"
"Ah _hain't_ no man. Ah'm just a farm-girl who ain't on her farm." Applejack giggled, and cleared her throat, and spat.
"So what are you? Some kinda hell-spawn from the Dark, like the preacher-man tole us 'bout? You come to bring God's judgment on our poor lil' town, which ain't never seen the likes of a not-dyin' scoundrel like you?"
Applejack settled back against the stone wall, receding into shadow. Somewhere, a screech owl called. The clear, cold disk of the moon peeped in through her tiny, barred window.
"Just a farmer. Ah _told_ you," Applejack said, emphatically. "More 'n' that, this town wouldn't be so darn poor if'n y'all set to clearin' out them acres of land to the North. Ah seen't em on mah way in. Ah reckon you could grow a couple bushels of apples out there, maybe give it a few years, 'n' you'd get more apples 'n' you 'n' the whole darn town could eat."
"Listen, missy, we do things _different_, 'round these parts."
"Cain't say ah approve of yer ways, Sheriff. Lawmen are s'posed to protect women and children, y'know."
"If y' don't like it, Miss, maybe you think about prop'rly dyin' when we put you up on that stake, y'hear?"
The sheriff got up abruptly. Applejack thought he was going to spring the cell open, but then she found a small cup sitting at her elbow.
"Now, you just enjoy that sweet tea, y'hear? 'N maybe you kin get right with God afore tomorrow."
He left before Applejack could say anything. She listened to the heavy stomp of his boots receding into the distance. Before long, she was left to stare, all alone, at the single flickering candle-stub he'd left to light the darkness.
Applejack got up and stretched her arms over her head, grunting. Then she walked over to the candle. She drew in a deep breath, and blew it out, dousing herself in darkness.
Applejack lowered herself back onto her sparse little wooden bed. "Dang shame. Ah woulda preferred a nice nip of some..." She found herself yawning cavernously. "...some rye. Oh, well."
Applejack pulled her Stetson over her eyes and abandoned herself to sleep, to the sound of the owls calling in the night.