The dog limped along, wagging its tail. One of its front legs was missing, replaced by a bandage that told Conn Mary had been taking good care of the cur.
“Good dog,” Conn said, petting the mountain cur. “Where’s Mary at, boy?”
The dog just blinked up at him, tongue lolling.
Conn called for Mary.
There was no response.
Had she finally given in and gone back to the family farm?
He knew that would be the best thing for her, but he felt a twinge of disappointment. After having so little time to speak with her in Leadville, he had been looking forward to seeing her.
Then he realized she hadn’t abandoned the homestead. She wouldn’t have left the dog and mules, not to mention the tents and tools and stacks of fresh lumber.
No, she and her brothers had stepped out, that was all. They’d be back, probably soon.
Whatever the case, their delay was a blessing, he realized.
Because he had unfinished business back beneath that cottonwood.
He’d never said goodbye to his brother. Not really. He’d put it off, knowing he couldn’t afford to face his emotions when there had been so much to do.
But all that was behind him now. It was finally time to say goodbye.
He climbed down from the gelding.
The dog leaned into him.
Conn patted its head and told it again that it was a good dog, then walked back to where his brother lay. The dog hobbled after him.
Conn’s heart thumped heavily as he remembered that terrible night, remembered riding in here and discovering Cole and cutting him down and laying him to rest.
Now, he stood, looking down at his brother’s grave, and the lump rose in his throat again, thicker than ever.
The dog finally caught up with him and once more leaned against his leg.
“I did it, Cole,” Conn said aloud, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears. “I killed them. I killed them all. With help from Mary and a man named Sheffield and a U.S. Marshal and this dog. I came back to let you know, Cole. I wanted you to know that I kept my promise. They’re all dead.”
But you’re still dead, too,he thought, and suddenly, he felt emptier than he had ever felt in his life, emptier than he had even known a man could feel, like the hollowed-out husk of nothing at all.
Killing those men had been the right thing to do, but it hadn’t fixed things. His brother was still dead, and Conn was still empty inside, empty as a ghost.
That’s when the dam broke.
That’s when he finally surrendered the reins, handing them from his mind to his heart. Grief rushed in on a flood of sorrow.
“Oh, Cole,” he cried. “Cole, Cole, Cole!”
He hadn’t cried for twenty years, not since he was a boy and realized men weren’t made to whimper.
But he cried now. There was no holding back, no attempt at restraint. He sobbed and fell to the ground and kneeled there with his head on the grave and wept for his dear, lost brother.
He wept for the past, for all that had been, and the many mistakes he had made; he wept for Cole and Mary and all that had happened to them; and he wept for the future, all the shattered dreams that would never come to fruition, theirs and his alike.
He had shown up too late.
Too late to apologize to Cole. Too late to explain he had changed. Too late to defend his brother and start a new life side by side.
