Chapter 14
They eventually got back to town and unloaded the dead man and gave their reports to Marshal Andrews, who had turned back with the rain.
By the time the posse parted ways, the eastern sky was already turning red, signaling the impending dawn, and issuing a warning about the day ahead, if the old saying was to be believed.
Conn hoped it was a day soaked in blood.
He and Sheffield rode out of town side by side, Conn trailing one of the outlaw’s horses for Mary to ride.
The sky continued to brighten and by the time they reached the homestead, the sun had topped the horizon, giving Conn his first real sight of the place his brother had been building.
The homestead sat in a high mountain valley. It was a good spot, beautiful, with plenty of grass and water and open meadows that sparkled in the morning light as the sun rose above the Kenosha Hills to the east.
To the west, the peaks of the rugged, snowcapped Mosquito Range gleamed bronze in that same sunlight. To the south, empty land spread away vastly, mottled green and gold with autumn. To the north lay Fairplay, presently hidden behind the low rise.
Cole had built his place close to Clearwater Creek but above the water at the base of foothills that stepped sharply up toward the mountains.
It was a good place for a home, a place of morning light with unbroken southern exposure for crops, a place where a man could pause at his work and watch eagles soar or snow coming off the jagged mountain peaks in shimmering, sunstruck, crystalline clouds.
He could stand there with the crisp wind rushing out of the mountains, fill his lungs with the good smell of pine, and enjoy the soothing sounds of the whispering aspens and gurgling creek.
Unless, of course, he was murdered in cold blood by ruthless savages.
Conn frowned at the burnt home, the shattered, empty corral, and the many tracks scarring the ground.
He saw no sign of Mary.
He rode back by the tree where Henry Toole and the others had hung his brother, and there she was. At least the top of her.
Mary stood hip-deep in a half-dug grave, pitching dirt onto a large pile.
Cole lay a short distance away. A piece of stiff canvas covered him from toes to chin, as if to keep him warm.
“Mary?” Conn called softly.
She jumped a little, stopped her furious digging, and turned to him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, which were hollowed out with grief. Most of her long blond hair had come undone and hung in straggling tendrils, framing a dirty face streaked by sweat and tears.
“Good morning, Conn. I’m about halfway there, I think.”
Conn reined in and dismounted. “You should have waited. I told you I’d do the digging.”
Mary’s smile wriggled, and he could tell she was trying not to cry. “I am not an idle woman, Conn. Besides, digging gave me something useful to do.”
“Fair enough,” he said then nodded at his companion. “This is Bill Sheffield. He’s helping me track down the men.”
Sheffield, still sitting his horse, tipped his black hat. “Mrs. Sullivan.”
Mary’s smile brightened. “I thank you, Mr. Sheffield, for helping Conn. My husband was a good man.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sheffield said.
“Please do climb down and join us, sir,” Mary said, then turned her attention back to Conn with gleaming eyes. “Did you find them?”
“Some of them,” Conn said. “Four of them are dead.”
Mary closed her eyes and whispered inaudibly. In prayer, Conn supposed.
When she opened her eyes again, she lifted her chin a little. She was still standing in the hole, leaning on the shovel. “Tell me about it.”
“Let me help you up out of there first,” Conn said.
“Thank you,” she said.
He reached down and took her small, calloused hand and helped her out of the half-dug grave. She was small and light but clearly a sturdy woman.
He told her about the previous night’s events and the plan to hunt down the survivors.
Mary took it all in, seeming pleased, and thanked them again for all they were doing. “I do wish I could offer you men breakfast, but…” she gestured toward the charred remains of her home.
“We’ll get breakfast in town,” Conn said. “I’ll put you up in the hotel before we pull out.”
“I can’t stay in town, Conn. There’s too much to be done here.”
Conn frowned at her. “I know you’re a hardworking woman, Mary, but with all due respect, there isn’t much you can do here. Not now. Not on your own.”
Mary blinked at him then glanced around. “But this is our home…”
Then she broke down crying.
Conn put a hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her but not wanting to overstep his bounds.
Which he shouldn’t have worried about, because Mary dropped the shovel and embraced him fiercely, squeezing him around the middle and sobbing. He held her and rubbed her back and said nothing, giving her time.
Sheffield picked up the shovel and crawled into the hole and started digging.
When Mary finally quit crying, she apologized and excused herself and staggered over to the creek to wash her face.
Conn’s heart broke for her.
He was hurting, having lost his twin brother, but she had lost her whole world.
It was a terrible thing, a thing that would not be solved by vengeance alone.
Yet vengeance remained. He had to stay strong and see to that first. Then, later, he would turn his attention to helping Mary.
All he could do now was bury Cole, get her to town, feed her, set her up, and send some telegrams. Hopefully, her family would come for her soon. And hopefully, a good number of men would show up to help him hunt the killers.
He was exhausted and figured Sheffield must be, too. They’d been up all night. But today was a new day and an important one.
Today, he needed to do everything right if he was going to stop these men from escaping and getting away with their terrible crimes.
One step at a time, he told himself.
Then he called down into the grave. “Hand me that shovel and let me have a turn.”