Two weeks later, Conn sat in a Leadville courtroom, wearing a new suit and facing the silver-haired judge who would determine his fate.
Conn’s parents had provided the suit. They sat in the front row of the gallery just behind him, having been summoned to the proceedings by Mary, who was also in attendance, looking attractive but serious in a gray dress.
Mary had been escorted to court by Marshal Andrews, who gave a detailed statement about everything that had happened in Fairplay.
Rudy McKay also took the stand, telling the same story.
These stories were expected, of course, because Conn had lived them.
What shocked him was Mary’s testimony.
She gave a lengthy testimony under oath, holding her chin high and her voice steady as she told the truth about everything, starting with her trip to town with Cole and ending with the recent attack by the last two members of the gang, Rafer Johnson and Toby Dunbar, whom she had killed with the help of the mountain cur.
Conn felt bad for Mary. No woman should go through what she had endured. Losing her husband and her home, along with her dreams and all that hard work, just to be attacked again by those same men.
But his pity was fleeting. What he mainly felt for Mary was admiration.
She had faced the worst and handled herself with poise and grit, which she showed again now, recounting everything with strength and clarity.
What an incredible woman.
She had done it. She had survived and put down the last of the gang. And while he wished he could have done that thing for her, he was glad they were gone.
Eleven down, none to go.
Rest in peace, brother.
Conn took the stand next and told everything just as it had happened.
The judge listened with no expression on his face and asked no further questions.
The final witness was U.S. Marshal Clayton Mayfield, who looked very pale and even thinner than normal. As usual, Mayfield was dressed impeccably with his badge on full display.
Conn wondered what the man would tell the court. He was nothing if not a lawman, after all, and his perspective must have been much different than the perspective of all these other witnesses. Also, he had warned Conn not to go after Toole, and then, of course, there was that business back in Arizona.
But Mayfield made no mention of the warning or Arizona. He just gave the facts, beginning with Marshal Andrews’s wire and wrapping up with how Conn had saved his life out at Mercy Ridge.
When the testimonies were finished, the judge didn’t even call for a recess. He announced that he had already made his decision.
“Mr. Sullivan,” the judge said. “I do not cotton to vigilantism, especially when it leads to shootings in public places like the Dusty Nugget Saloon.”
The judge paused, giving Conn a hard stare.
Then his face softened. “But in light of the heinous crimes committed against your family and the testimonies we have heard here today and taking into consideration the service you have done this county and state by eliminating these savage criminals and the further service you rendered to U.S. Marshal Mayfield, I hereby dismiss all charges against you.”
Conn exhaled, vastly relieved.
Behind him, a ripple of audible relief also went through the courtroom, including his mother’s voice praising God.
“You are a free man, Mr. Sullivan,” the judge said, “and I would suggest that you use that freedom to ride out of this country. Far out of this country, if you wish to please me. You might go to the Nations and become a bounty hunter for Judge Parker. I hear he needs men like you. I, on the other hand, do not.”
The court was dismissed.
Mayfield approached.
They shook hands. There was no warmth between them, only grudging, mutual respect. Each had saved the other, after all. No debt remained.
“Consider the judge’s advice,” Mayfield said. “You’d make a good bounty hunter.”
