This surly, disrespectful would-be tough guy burst into tears. He lifted his big hands and covered his face with shame and sobbed.
For a long time, the boy just sat there, racked with grief, howling into his hands.
Conn shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling bad for Junior and his father and wondering why the phrase had had such a powerful effect on the boy.
He put a hand on Junior’s shoulder.
The boy kept crying.
Conn patted his shoulder.
Finally, Junior got control of himself and pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face and blew his nose and put it back in his pocket and lifted his head, revealing a puffy-eyed face that looked both exhausted and distraught.
“He really said that?” he wanted to know. “He told you to tell me?”
Conn nodded. “I sure couldn’t have made it up.”
“I reckon that’s a fact,” Junior said. He shook his head and seemed to recover a little. He cast a surly glance at the saloon patrons, whom he didn’t seem to understand were ignoring him.
It’s tough being a young man and thinking the world is against you. No one knew that better than Conn.
“Let’s get out of here,” Junior said, clearly embarrassed and wanting to put this behind him.
“All right,” Conn said and followed the kid out of the saloon onto the street.
“Well, I should be going,” Junior said. “I’m a busy man. But… I should… thank you, Mr. Sullivan. My father…”
He trailed off and shook his head, and Conn had the sense that he’d stopped talking because he feared that if he kept going, he’d start crying again.
At least the kid was feeling something now, at least that strange phrase had penetrated his tough hide.
“Look,” Conn said, “before you go, I got one more thing to say to you.”
Junior just looked at him.
Conn took the envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to Junior.
“What’s this?” the boy said.
“Money,” Conn said.
“Money?”
“I sold your father’s horse and other things,” Conn explained. “I wish I could have gotten his rifle for you and whatever he had in his pockets, but it’s all buried in that mine.
Junior blinked at the envelope. “Well, thank you, Mr. Sullivan.”
“There’s also a slip of paper in there. It has my name on it. And a couple places you might wire me if you need help.”
“I’ll be all right. I’ve been on my own for a long time.”
“All right,” Conn said, “but your daddy followed me right into the mouth of the earth and died trying to help me set things right, so if you ever need help, I’m your man. Whatever it is, whatever you need, if you call, I’ll come running.”
53
Late in the afternoon the next day, when Conn turned the gelding onto the lane and rode up to Cole and Mary’s homestead, he saw no sign of Mary or her brothers.
The dog came trotting out from the corral, behind the fence of which a few mules stared at Conn.
