Conn frowned at her. “I know you’re a hardworking woman, Mary, but with all due respect, there isn’t much you can do here. Not now. Not on your own.”
Mary blinked at him then glanced around. “But this is our home…”
Then she broke down crying.
Conn put a hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her but not wanting to overstep his bounds.
Which he shouldn’t have worried about, because Mary dropped the shovel and embraced him fiercely, squeezing him around the middle and sobbing. He held her and rubbed her back and said nothing, giving her time.
Sheffield picked up the shovel and crawled into the hole and started digging.
When Mary finally quit crying, she apologized and excused herself and staggered over to the creek to wash her face.
Conn’s heart broke for her.
He was hurting, having lost his twin brother, but she had lost her whole world.
It was a terrible thing, a thing that would not be solved by vengeance alone.
Yet vengeance remained. He had to stay strong and see to that first. Then, later, he would turn his attention to helping Mary.
All he could do now was bury Cole, get her to town, feed her, set her up, and send some telegrams. Hopefully, her family would come for her soon. And hopefully, a good number of men would show up to help him hunt the killers.
He was exhausted and figured Sheffield must be, too. They’d been up all night. But today was a new day and an important one.
Today, he needed to do everything right if he was going to stop these men from escaping and getting away with their terrible crimes.
One step at a time,he told himself.
Then he called down into the grave. “Hand me that shovel and let me have a turn.”
15
The burial was a somber affair. Conn did not allow himself the luxury of tears.
Later,he told himself again.Later, after your work is done.
Mary, too, steeled herself. She wept but held herself together, and when she said a prayer over the grave, Conn was struck by her eloquence and the obvious love she had for his brother.
Sheffield stood there respectfully with his hat in his hands, but Conn didn’t miss the way he glanced at the rising sun.
Morning was slipping away.
Once they had filled in the grave, Conn said as much. “I reckon we’d best get to town. I’d like to get things taken care of before meeting the men at noon.”
Mary nodded curtly, cast one last haunted look at her husband’s grave, then nodded. “Do we have just a moment?”
“Sure,” Conn said.
She hurried off and disappeared into the primitive stable.
Conn heard hammering.
A short time later, Mary came out with a crude wooden cross and a hammer. She went to the head of the grave and poundedthe marker in place. “There,” she said. “I will do a better job later, but I didn’t want to leave Cole in an unmarked grave.”
She hurried back to the stable, put the hammer away, and returned to them. “Thank you again, gentlemen, for your help. I am ready to go to town now.”
Conn had selected the smallest of the outlaw’s horses, a paint pony that ended up fitting Mary well. They rode in silence and reached town two hours before the time they were to meet the posse.
