Chapter 24
When Conn, Sheffield, and McKay rode back into Fairplay, folks came outside to gawk at the dead man on the big, white horse.
Conn scanned their faces, hoping to see Mary, but saw no sign of her.
He slowed his horses as they neared the marshal’s office, but Sheffield kept riding.
“Come on,” the bony-faced man said. “I meant what we said. Blake’s making one more visit to Beulah’s before we drop him off at the marshal’s.”
The old timer was sitting in his rocker when they rode up to the house.
To Conn, this felt like a cruel errand, but then again, this woman had lied to them, trying to help one of his brother’s murderers get away, so if Sheffield wanted to show her that he was a man of his word, Conn wouldn’t stand in his way.
The old timer rocked back and forth, grinning like he was tickled pink. “Well, he won’t be slapping nobody no more.”
Sheffield ignored the old man and handed Conn the reins to his replacement horse. Then he rode up close to the house, trailing the big white horse, and whistled sharply.
A moment later, folks came out onto the porch and murmured. A second later the door banged open, and Beulah came rushing out. She took one look at the man stretched across the back of the horse, let go with an ear-piercing wail, and dropped heavily to her knees, sobbing Blake’s name over and over.
They rode off.
Beulah’s screeching voice chased after them. “I hope you men burn in hell!”
They went straight to Marshal Andrews’s office. He was already outside, waiting on them, a half-sick look on his face.
“You got Blake, huh?” he said when they rode up.
“That’s right,” Conn said. “And we had to kill a couple of his brothers, too. They came gunning for me.”
The marshal shook his head. “What a mess. What a bloody mess.”
Conn pulled three dollars from his pocket and handed them to the lawman. “For the undertaker.”
“Obliged,” Andrews said. “But this is over now.”
“What’s over?”
“Hunting these fellas. You’re out of it.”
Everything in Conn tightened then. “Not unless they’re dead.”
Andrews brightened. “They’re as good as dead.”
“They’ve been as good as dead since they killed my brother,” Conn said, “but I still got killing to do.”
Andrews shook his head. “I sent for a U.S. Marshal. He came in this morning on the train from Salida.”
“Well, good for him. This changes nothing. I’m here to drop off Blake. Then I’m hitting the trail again.”
Andrews looked uncomfortable. “Well, the marshal went to get something to eat, but he ought to be back any minute.”
Conn swung down from the gelding and walked back and untied Blake and let him fall heavily to the dusty street.
Sheffield climbed down and helped him drag the dead man over to the boardwalk in front of the marshal’s office.
“Here he comes now,” Marshal Andrews said.
Conn turned, and once again, everything in him tightened, this time like a fist ready to strike.
“Mayfield,” he said to the approaching man.
U.S. Marshal Clayton Mayfield stopped twenty feet away, looking confident and ready.
Conn half-expected him to brush his coat aside and slap leather.
There had been a time…
“Sullivan,” Mayfield said.
For a long second, the two men just stared at each other.
Onlookers watched in silence, sensing the tension between these two deadly men.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mayfield said tonelessly.
Conn nodded. “I’m setting things right.”
Mayfield shook his head. It was a slight thing. Like many predators, Mayfield was a study in grace and subtlety. “Not anymore, Sullivan. This is my job now.”
“Good luck with your job,” Conn said, mounting up. “Just stay out of my way.”
“You don’t seem to understand,” Mayfield said. “Your manhunt is over.”
Conn spat on the ground between them. “It won’t be over till the men who killed my brother are dead. And I mean every last one of them.”
“That will take some time,” Mayfield said. “I have to track them down, take them into custody, get them in front of a judge. Speaking of which, hop on down and come to Marshal Andrews’ office with me. I want to get your testimony. It could help in court.”
Conn shook his head. “You can get my side of the story from Andrews. I don’t have time to sit around chatting. I got killers to hunt.”
Mayfield grinned slightly. “You’re clearly upset, Sullivan. Understandably. Emotion can make it difficult to understand the simplest communication.”
“I understand just fine.”
“I’m telling you to stop.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t.”
The marshal stared into his eyes. Again, Conn sensed the marshal was ready to brush that coat aside. “If you persist in chasing Toole, we are going to have trouble. The law does not tolerate vigilantism.”
Now, it was Conn’s turn to offer a cold smile. “Well, in that case, we aren’t hunting Toole. We’re just going for a ride.”
“You’re playing a deadly game, Sullivan.”
“So are you, Mayfield.”
“Where are you riding?” the U.S. Marshal asked.
“Out of town.”
“I was hoping you could be a little more specific. Where is Toole?”
Conn spread his hands. “I wouldn’t know. Besides, we’re just taking a ride.”
“I’m on your side, Sullivan. Help me help you.”
Conn just looked at him for a second. “I haven’t forgotten Arizona.”
“Neither have I,” the marshal said. Then he turned his attention to the men riding with Conn.
“You men go home now. I’m a U.S. Marshal, and I’m on the case now.
I know you were trying to do the right thing, so I’ll look the other way on everything that’s happened to this point, but if you continue to help Sullivan, you’re crossing the law. ”
McKay held up his hands, looking pale. “I ride with the law, not against it. Happy hunting, Marshal.”
Mayfield nodded.
“Sorry, Conn,” McKay said, “but this is trouble I don’t need. Why don’t you leave the hunt to him and come on back to my place. We’ll have some grub and drink some whiskey.”
Conn shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, and I appreciate your help. I’ll catch you down the trail.” He shook hands with the cattleman.
Mayfield eyed Sheffield briefly. “You’re Bill Sheffield.”
Sheffield nodded, his face impassive, and looked back at the marshal through hooded eyes.
“Well, now that this is over, Sheffield, you can ride on back to Stump Run,” the marshal said.
“Can’t,” Sheffield said.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not done riding with Conn yet. I set out to do something, I finish it.”
“An admirable trait,” Mayfield said. “Unless, of course, you set out to do the wrong thing. Speaking of which, your boy’s Junior, right?”
Sheffield nodded again.
“You talk to Junior lately?” Mayfield said.
“Why?”
“Ride on up to Stump Run, have a talk with him.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Boys need their fathers.”
“Junior’s a man.”
“All right, then. Men need their fathers. And from what I hear, Junior could use his now.”
“Quit talking out of the side of your mouth, Mayfield. What’s wrong with my boy?”
Mayfield lifted his palms, grinning slightly again. “I didn’t mean to anger you, Sheffield. I’m just saying, instead of going on a fool’s errand, you might want to visit your boy.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Sheffield said flatly.
“You’re welcome. I’m just a public servant, like a shepherd concerned for his sheep. That must resonate with you, doesn’t it, Sullivan? Wasn’t your daddy a preacher?”
“That’s right,” Conn said. “But if you’ll excuse me, marshal, I don’t have time to sit here, talking. I have to ride. See you down the trail.”
“I hope not,” Mayfield said. “Because if I do see you down the trail, you and I will be at odds.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Conn said. “I’ll be ready.”
“So will I,” the marshal said.
Conn turned his gelding and gathered the reins of the spare horses and headed down the street, followed by Sheffield.
When they were a good distance away, Conn said, “We can ride straight to Stump Run if you want.”
Sheffield shook his head. “Later. Men like Toole don’t sit still long. We gotta root him out before he does something stupid and has to go on the run again.”
“All right,” Conn said.
“That Mayfield’s supposed to be as deadly as cholera.”
Conn nodded. “Some folks say he’s the fastest gun in the West.”
“I reckon Mayfield believes that. He’s confident.”
“Confidence will get you there. But overconfidence will get you killed.”
“There is that.”
“Look, Sheffield. I appreciate you riding along with me. But this is my trouble. Mayfield means what he says. I can take this from here.”
Sheffield’s eyes hardened. “I meant what I said. I start something, I finish it.”
“I’m the same way. All right, then. I appreciate you riding along.”
Conn stopped at the livery.
Fifteen minutes later, he shook hands with the hostler, and rode off again, this time heading out of town with the two hundred and fifteen dollars in coins and greenbacks that he had gotten for Blake’s horse, saddle, and tack.
They rode south to the crossroads, headed west, and passed the old cabin where Danny Bump had been killed. A short time later, they were taking the Four-Mile Creek trail over the pass with Mount Sherman looming over them.
As they approached the top of the ridge, Conn knew he could turn around in his saddle and look down in the valley and probably pick out his brother’s homestead.
But he didn’t. He kept his eyes locked on the trail ahead.