No one said these things, but Conn understood the moment all the same.
Even McKay yawned, his considerable fire dimming.
Only Sheffield looked steady.
The rain fell harder.
Conn glanced toward the southern trail and the mountains he knew awaited them there, though even their great bulk was invisible in the darkness, which was complete.
He considered the opposite direction. They wouldn’t stand a chance of finding the men who’d charged off into the woods, not in this darkness.
At the same time, he remembered what Sheffield said would happen to anyone stupid enough to try the pass at night. And that had been in moonlight. Now, with this pitch blackness and especially in the rain, riding the trail would be more akin to suicide than anything resembling a sensible manhunt.
And yet, Conn sensed that all he had to do was ask, and Sheffield would ride with him.
The others, no. But Sheffield, yes.
Wanting to spare the man that danger and spare the others the embarrassment of having to turn tail, Conn said, “Well, boys, I sure do appreciate you riding out here with me. I think we pushed it hard enough for tonight. I’ll resume my hunt tomorrow.”
Most of the men smiled, clearly relieved. McKay and a couple of the others said they’d ride with Conn the next day.
“I appreciate that,” Conn said. He thought about the night ahead and the coming morning and what needed to be done.
He needed to bury his brother. And he needed to take Mary to town. Conn hoped she’d come to her senses and let him put her up in a hotel. Or, better yet, let him put her on a train for home. She was a Colorado girl. He remembered Cole saying that. He just didn’t know which part.
In any case, he knew he’d need time in the morning, even if he didn’t sleep a wink, which wouldn’t be wise, considering the likely trail ahead.
He could see now this wasn’t going to be simple. Not that he’d ever thought it would be. Not really. But he had hoped for a quick, clean reckoning. He had hoped to slaughter his brother’s murderers.
But no. The bad men had split into three groups. This was going to take time. Perhaps days, perhaps weeks, perhaps even months.
Whatever the case, he wouldn’t stop until he’d gunned down every last one of them.
Four were already dead. Not bad for a night’s work, he supposed.
“Any man willing to ride along, meet me tomorrow at noon in front of the saloon.”
They said that sounded good, and then one of them said he’d take Danny back to town with him, and a couple of others hopped down and helped tie the dead man to the back of the volunteer’s horse.
The rain fell harder.
Sheffield walked his big bay over and spoke in a low voice to Conn. “What are you gonna do, Sullivan?”
“I’m gonna track them all down and kill them.”
Sheffield nodded. “All right. Count me in.”
“Appreciate it,” Conn said. “But first, I gotta dig a grave.”
Sheffield nodded again, his hard face unchanging in the lantern light. “You got an extra shovel?”
14
They eventually got back to town and unloaded the dead man and gave their reports to Marshal Andrews, who had turned back with the rain. By the time the posse parted ways, the eastern sky was already turning red, signaling the impending dawn, and issuing a warning about the day ahead, if the old saying was to be believed.
Conn hoped it was a day soaked in blood.
He and Sheffield rode out of town side by side, Conn trailing one of the outlaw’s horses for Mary to ride.
