Chapter 17
After breakfast, Conn rented Mary a room. He paid for a week up front and had given her enough money that she could stay on for a long time if she wanted.
He hoped, however, that her family would take her back with them sooner than that.
Toward that end, he took her to the telegraph station next.
Bill Sheffield excused himself and said he’d see Conn at noon.
“He seems like a good man,” Mary said.
“Yes,” Conn said, as they neared the telegraph station. “Do you have family close by?”
“Not far,” she said. “My father and brothers are down on the Arkansas River about ninety miles from here. Ever hear of Canon City?”
“Isn’t there a prison down there?”
“Yes, but not just a prison. It’s a nice town.”
Conn nodded. “I’ve ridden through there. Pretty country.”
“It is.”
“Where’s the closest train to there?”
“Salida.”
“Will your family come for you?”
“Oh yes, they’ll come for me, all right. I’m going to have a hard time with them.”
“What do you mean?” Conn said and felt his hackles rise. He’d only known Mary for a short time, but she’d been his brother’s wife, and if her family was mean to her, he’d stick around long enough to set things straight.
“They’ll try to talk me into going back with them,” she said.
Now, Conn was really confused. “Well yeah, that’s the idea.”
Mary stopped walking and met his eyes. “I won’t go.”
“You have to.”
Mary crossed her arms. “I won’t. My life is here.”
“Mary, those men burned your home.”
“I will rebuild it.”
“Tell you what,” Conn said. “You go to your family and give me the address, and when I finish taking care of business, I’ll ride down to Canon City and bring you back, and we’ll rebuild the house together. All right?”
“That’s very kind of you, Conn,” Mary said, “but I have a shipment of building materials arriving in a couple of days. Cole and I were going to build a barn, but I suppose we can use the materials to build a house instead.”
“But I won’t be here,” Conn reminded her. “I have to get after those men before they disappear and cover their tracks.”
“I know,” Mary said. “When I said we, I wasn’t referring to you. I meant my brothers. They will try to get me to go back with them, but I can be very persuasive when I must. I will have them help me build the house.”
Conn grinned. It surprised him. He’d been feeling like he’d moved past smiling, like he might never smile again.
“What?” she said, one corner of her own mouth curling slightly.
“Nothing,” he said. “I just think your brothers are going to have a hard time with you.”
“You are correct, sir.”
They went inside, where the man at the counter said how sorry he was about what had happened. They thanked him and both sent telegrams, Mary to her family and Conn to his parents.
Conn wrote:
Reverend Sullivan, Peabody, Kansas – Cole murdered by gang of eleven men (stop) House burned (stop) Mary okay (stop) I will avenge (stop) Have already settled the worldly accounts of four (stop)
He thought of his father when he added the word “worldly,” knowing the reverend would look toward eternal judgment. Still thinking of his parents, Conn added one more line, though he was uncertain if he added it for them or himself.
Pray for me (stop) Conn
There was that lump in his throat again.
He choked it down and waited for Mary to finish her message and paid and led her back out onto the street.
“Where to next?” she said.
He glanced at the sky, where the sun was creeping toward its apex.
“We got another forty-five minutes before noon, I’d guess.
We gotta swing by the mercantile. Need to stock up before hitting the trail, and I want to get you whatever you need.
Clothes, food, whatever. Oh, and we’ll need to board the pony, too. ”
“Thank you, Conn. That’s very kind. But you’ve already given me money, and I have the money Marshal Andrews returned to me. I’ll take care of those things after you’ve gone. It’ll give me something to do while I wait for my brothers to arrive.”
“All right. But there’s something else we need to get before I leave.”
“What’s that?”
“Couple of things. Call them overdue wedding presents. Come on.” He led her across the street to Purcell’s Gun Shop.
A little bell rang when Conn opened the door. He held it for Mary and followed her inside.
It was a little shop packed with a lot of guns. There was no one in sight, unless you counted the gray cat stretched out on the counter against the opposite wall.
After the morning they’d had, Conn half expected the cat to tell them it was sorry for the loss, but the feline merely blinked at them and was soon joined by a middle-aged man with a short beard and half-moon glasses who came in through a door behind the counter, wearing a grease-stained apron.
“Morning, folks,” the man said. “What can I do for you?”
“I want a shotgun, a rifle, and ammunition for both,” Conn said.
“All righty then. You came to the right place, friend. Got anything specific in mind?”
“We’ll take a 73 Winchester,” Conn said, pulling one off a rack of lever-actions and handing it to the man. “What do you got for shotguns?”
“Lots of choices,” the man said. “I am a believer in the shotgun.”
“As am I,” Conn said. “They work.”
Something must have clicked for the man then. Maybe it was the shotgun talk. His eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t mean to pry, mister, but are you the one who…”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
The man nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss, folks. Would you be Mrs. Sullivan? I’m Abe Purcell.”
Introductions were made and they meandered back to the subject of shotguns.
“Like I said, there’s a bunch to choose from. Is this for hunting or defense?”
“Defense,” Conn said. “These weapons are for Mrs. Sullivan. How about a double-barreled twelve gauge? Something reliable.”
“Yes, sir. That’ll sure do the job.”
He came around the counter and led them over to a rack on the wall. He tilted his head, looking over the half-moon glasses, and scanned the rack from right to left, then started over again, from left to right until he stopped in the middle.
“Here we go,” he said, plucking a double-barreled scattergun from the rest and handing it to Conn.
He could feel the quality as soon as the weapon touched his hands. Like most men, he appreciated well-made tools. That went double for well-made firearms, which this was, he reckoned, based not only on the feel but also the name etched into the barrel: Parker Brothers.
He broke open the breech and stared down the barrels, which gleamed faintly in the light coming in through the window, then snapped it shut again and turned it in his hands, studying the barrel.
“It’s a Parker,” Purcell said. “A little pricey but real nice. You pull the triggers, it’ll go boom.”
“How much?” Conn asked.
“It’s forty-eight dollars and fifty cents.”
“Don’t spend the money, Conn,” Mary said. “If you want me to be armed, you could just lend me one of the guns Marshal Andrews mentioned.”
“I will give you all of those guns,” Conn said, “the rifle and the pistols. Your brothers can use them if you manage to talk them into helping you. But I want you to have the best.”
“It’s an awful lot of money.”
“It’s important to me that you are safe.”
“Well, thank you. I will feel safer this way.”
“Nothing makes you safer than a shotgun, except maybe a dog,” Conn said.
“You want a dog?” Purcell said.