MacNichols watched Mabel follow Jackham and his goons up the stairwell discretely with silent horror; what the bloody hell was that woman doing?! He turned his attention to his two compatriots, listening absent-mindedly as they spoke in hushed, excited tones about what could be, fortunately in a tone suggesting something other than lynching Brailham. He tried to keep his composure but he grew impatient, uncertain if Mabel was marching up to her death – or worse. He bounced his knee up and down and drank entirely too fast to be smart as he waited for a sign. The fact no skirmish was heard from above was a sign that things weren’t amiss. 

Or so he hoped.

When the three suspicious [I]Trident[/I] crewmembers sauntered down the stairs once more sometime later, MacNichols took their lack of change in disposition as a good sign Mabel wasn’t caught snooping. They came to the tavern with the intention of gauging the crew’s intent and swaying it, something the Scotsman figured had been accomplished enough for one night. When he didn’t see her come downstairs, he silently prayed she snuck out a window instead of…

[I]No, best not to think of that.[/I] he chided himself. He finished his drink and bid his companions farewell, and their response to his leaving was much warmer than when he first approached. At least that was accomplished well. He felt the alcohol taking hold, his steps were less even and his head was spinning somewhat. Looking around, he decided to try his luck at the meeting spot by the hill. With luck, Mabel would be waiting there with a juicy piece of news. He had to hope that; otherwise, was it his fault if she met a horrid fate? No. That would be on her. He couldn’t control Mabel’s actions any more than a man could stop a hurricane from rolling in. He set up the streets, shrouded in darkness, and headed to the outskirts of town.

Arriving at the hill once more, MacNichols didn’t sight Mabel, which in itself wasn’t unexpected but it was still a bit disconcerting. Suddenly, the need to take a piss took hold, the drinks of the evening having run their course. Hurrying over to a tree, he unfastened his trousers to release himself and enjoyed the immediate relief as he pissed on the trunk with a relieved sigh. He was definitely too drunk for this subterfuge business, he decided.