In another town, his ragged and dusty condition would have also invited scrutiny, but here in Leadville, he looked like one more miner who’d come to town to drink whatever dust and nuggets he’d scrounged from the earth.
Conn waited, watching the door, for several minutes.
If he’d been spotted by Mayfield, he’d apparently lost the marshal.
Good.
That was an appointment he wanted to postpone until after he’d finished dealing with these others.
And then there were the other two who’d ridden off, Rafer Johnson and Toby Dunbar.
He had no idea where they had gotten to, but as soon as he finished with the four he’d followed here, he’d head back to Fairplay and see if anyone had seen or heard anything that might help him catch Johnson and Dunbar.
While he was there, he would also drop in on Mary to make sure she was doing all right.
Hopefully, she was gone. Hopefully, her brothers had talked some sense into her and taken her back to the family farm.
But he doubted it.
Mary had backbone.
He hoped she was doing all right. If she was there, he would grab whatever she needed from Fairplay before hitting the trail again.
If that was the case, he looked forward to seeing her.
Though he supposed he had one other stop to make before heading to Fairplay.
First, he needed to visit Stump Run.
It was not something he was looking forward to, but he had to do it.
But he was getting ahead of himself.
Conn waited a while longer, watching for Mayfield, then headed for the bar, meaning to ask the bartender if he’d heard anything.
Halfway there, he slammed to a stop.
Because coming through the door was a young, blond-haired man with green eyes and a pair of tied-down guns with pearly grips.
Was it Jesse Turpin, the quick draw?
Conn unfastened the hammer loop on his Remington, hoping a short man with a scarred face would come through the door next.
But this man, who might be Turpin or might not, appeared to be alone.
He bellied up to the bar and hollered for whiskey. “Gimme ten bottles, barkeep. The cheapest you got.”
Conn stepped forward, staring at the man.
Others read the look on his face and stepped aside, clearing a space of perhaps twenty feet between the men.
Conn still wasn’t sure this was his man, so he cut to the chase. “Turpin.”
Instantly, the blond-haired man turned and stepped away from the bar. When he saw Conn, his eyes flared, and his mouth dropped open. “You! That ain’t possible! We killed you—twice!”
46
Mary finally struggled out of the dress and sighed with relief. It was an incredibly uncomfortable garment, so tight around the bosom that she could barely breathe. The armpits were also snug and too high, making her square her shoulders unnaturally. Meanwhile, the rest of the dress billowed around her like a tablecloth.
