Chapter 22
Sheffield took care of the Blake brothers’ animals while Conn and McKay dug two shallow graves in a patch of soft ground near the house.
Soft or not, digging’s digging, and by the time they finished, they were working by lantern light. Night had fallen, hard and dark and cold, over the land.
Conn was worn to a nub. He hadn’t slept for a long time. Neither had Sheffield. Probably McKay hadn’t slept much, either.
They planted Ben Blake’s brothers with no to-do, then covered them back up, a ghastly affair by lamplight.
“Those graves are shallow,” Conn said. “Feel like I should cover them with rocks, but I’m worn out.”
Sheffield spat. “I ain’t lugging one rock for their graves. We didn’t ride in here meaning these boys no harm. They brought it on themselves. All three of them tried to kill you.”
Conn chuckled. His eyes burned from fatigue. “You’re right. But I will mark their graves, though.”
He went into the barn and found a couple of boards and etched letters into each with his knife. One board read, Blake Brother, Older. The other read, Blake Brother, Younger.
He placed these on the appropriate graves and figured that was good enough. He didn’t bother making crosses, because these men hadn’t exactly met him with Christian charity.
“What’s the next move?” McKay said.
“I figure we should eat and sleep,” Conn said.
“That works,” Sheffield said.
“Now that we know where Toole’s headed, it takes some of the hurry out,” Conn said. “Not much, but a little. If the trail goes cold, at least we know where it leads.”
“Unless they blow out of there,” Sheffield said.
“Yeah, like I said, some of the hurry. Not all. But I reckon we have time to eat and sleep and haul Ben Blake back to Fairplay.”
“Good,” Sheffield said. “One thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“We get to town, let’s not go telling folks where we’re going.”
“You mean Toole’s location?”
Sheffield nodded. “If they ain’t riding with us, don’t none of them need to know. Besides, someone might print it up in a paper. Or maybe Toole’s got a friend in town who would send a telegram.”
“We’ll keep it between us, then,” Conn said.
McKay nodded and yawned mightily.
Conn carried the lantern over to Ben Blake’s body, which still lay in the barn, and set it down beside him and searched the man’s pockets, quickly finding what he had expected to discover: a pair of shiny golden eagles.
“These were my brother’s,” Conn said.
Sheffield and McKay nodded.
Conn held out the coins to them.
Sheffield shook his head. “I ain’t doing this for money.”
“Same,” McKay said.
“Understood, but you’re welcome to it.”
Both men refused.
“Let’s eat,” Sheffield said.
They went into the house, which was surprisingly clean and well-stocked for the home of bachelors.
Conn lit some lamps and got a fire going in the stove and boiled some beans and fried up a few thick ham steaks. There was a loaf of sourdough on the counter, and he broke that into thirds and put it down beside their plates on the kitchen table.
They ate in silence.
When they were finished, Conn yawned. He needed sleep, but sleeping in here would feel too ghoulish. He said as much to the men.
McKay shrugged.
“I reckon we’re better off sleeping in the barn,” Sheffield said. “We don’t know how many Blake brothers there are. Last thing I want is someone coming home and finding us asleep in here.”
So they hid their horses around back and dragged Ben Blake out of the barn, figuring if anybody discovered him, they’d check the house first and make a racket hollering for the other brothers.
They slept with their boots on and their guns close at hand.
When Conn woke to a rooster crowing the next morning, he still lay in exactly the same spot. He’d been so tired he hadn’t even shifted around once.
Sheffield lay like a corpse upon his bedroll. McKay snored loudly from a hay-lined stall, his big boots jutting out into the aisle.
Conn got up and went outside. Blake was still dead out there, and they’d had no visitors.
He went back into the house and got breakfast and coffee started. He put his back into it, figuring they ought to tuck in enough grub to hold them. There was no telling when they would sit to a meal again.
While the bacon and eggs were sizzling, he took out Marshal Andrew’s note and reread the names, memorizing the marshal’s description of each man.
Apparently, one of the men, Jesse Turpin, was young with blond hair and green eyes and wore two tied-down Colts with pearly grips. He had a reputation as a quickdraw. He’d faced men and put them in the ground.
Which meant something.
Conn looked forward to facing him and returning the favor.
Sheffield came in and poured himself a mug of coffee and they sat and ate and talked about the day ahead, figuring they’d stop on their way to Fairplay at a neighbor’s and let them know what happened.
It was a risk. A neighbor might be friends of the Blakes. But the stock would need tending.
“Should be able to get out of Fairplay well before noon,” Sheffield said.
“You got anything to tend to before we leave?” Conn said. “You do, I’ll give you a hand.”
“No, my sister’ll take care of things. She got along all right before I come to stay with her. I reckon she’ll be all right with me gone for a while. Truth be told, she might even relish my absence.”
“All right.”
“Her husband up and died here a year back. Went to bed one night, complaining of a headache and never woke up the next morning.”
“She have any kids?”
Sheffield nodded and lifted the steaming mug to his drooping mustache. “Couple of them. Boy and a girl. They’re six and eight, old enough to help out around the place.”
“That’s good.”
“I only have one boy myself,” Sheffield said. “And he’s been on his own these last couple of years. Lives in Stump Run.”
Conn knew the place. It was maybe a day’s ride from Fairplay, a logging boomtown on the middle fork of the South Platte, a rough place full of saloons and cat houses and gambling establishments.
Sheffield stared into his coffee. “Tried to get Junior to join me down here. His name’s William, like me, but he goes by Junior. Anyway, he didn’t want to come. He’s cutting a swath of his own, so he says. Far as I can tell, he’s just getting into trouble.”
“A man’ll do what a man’ll do,” Conn said.
“That’s the gospel truth if I ever heard it spoke. But when it’s your boy, sometimes you wish he wouldn’t.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Junior’s a good enough man. Honest, not afraid to work. And he’s got sand. But he’s got a wild streak, too, and he’s not always the best judge of character.”
“That’s a dangerous combination.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve been meaning to ride back up there and check on him. He won’t like that, but I won’t have my son running around with Ligget and that crew.”
“Ligget?”
“Big man up there in Stump Run. Owns a saloon and a gambling house and a couple of bordellos. Stump Run’s growing, and Ligget’s planning to ride it all the way to the top. And he doesn’t care how many men he has to ruin to get there.”
“We can ride there now if you want, drop in on your boy,” Conn said.
Sheffield shook his head. “Junior’ll keep. But I’d stop by there on the way back through, if you ain’t in a hurry.”
“We’ll do it,” Conn said.
Sheffield nodded. They just sat for a moment. Sheffield seemed to hesitate, then said, “Anything happens to me, and you run into Junior, tell him something for me.”
“All right.”
“Tell him the yellow bird is on the gate.”
Conn was confused. “The yellow bird is on the gate?”
“That’s right. Tell him his pa said the yellow bird is on the gate. Can you remember it?”
“I’ll remember it.”
A short time later, McKay joined them. He had hay sticking out this way and that from his red hair.
They went back over their plans as they finished breakfast then washed up after themselves and left the place in a good state before going out and seeing to the grim job of fastening Ben Blake on the back of his big, white horse.
They headed out but soon stopped when they saw a farmer feeding his chickens.
The man waved warmly, but when they rode up and he saw their gruesome cargo, all the color went out of his face.
Conn explained what happened.
The man shook his head, looking sad. He explained the Blakes had been good neighbors. The two that stayed over there, anyway.
“This one,” he said, pointing toward Ben Blake, “had a reputation. Kind of like some of those others.”
“What others?” Conn asked.
“Oh, there’s seven or eight Blake brothers. I was you, I’d clear out of this country. They’ll be coming for you. Mark my words. Those boys are Texans. They stick together. Now, you’ve killed three of them. The others won’t quit till you’re dead or they are.”
Conn thanked the man for his warning and explained about the Blake place.
“I’ll ride over and take care of the animals until one of the other brothers comes back,” the man said. “At least that’ll keep them from getting mad at me. Farming out here’s hard enough without somebody shooting at you.”