He wished they had more time, wished they could eat and sleep and that he could wait with Mary until her family fetched her.
But none of that was possible except for choking down a quick meal. Because the longer he waited, the colder Toole’s trail would grow.
That was a thing he had decided. He was going after Toole first. Eventually, he would track down the other three, but he needed to get after the leader and the main crew before they slipped away forever.
Not that they would escape Conn. He would hunt them down, every last one of them, no matter how far they ran.
When they rode into Fairplay, folks came outside and watched them pass, nodding and frowning and lifting hands almost timidly, telling Conn that the news had spread and that these folks felt bad for them.
They went past the marshal’s office without stopping.
“Marshal Andrews will want to talk with you and get your statement,” Conn told Mary. “That might take some time, though, so I reckon we ought to get some grub first. You’ll think better with some food and coffee in you.”
Mary nodded. “Thank you, Conn. It doesn’t even seem right, eating and drinking with Cole back there, all by himself.”
“I understand. But we gotta keep moving, gotta keep living.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Thank you.”
They hitched their horses in front of the hotel. Conn held the door for Mary, and all three of them went inside and entered a little café to the left.
The waitress recognized them right off for who they were. It seemed like the whole town had already heard about the previous night’s events.
She asked if they were the folks who’d had the hard time, and Mary said they were, and the waitress said she was awful sorry and gave them their choice of tables, the place being empty between breakfast and lunch.
“Thank you,” Conn said and pointed to a corner table that faced the front window and the street outside. This was less because he was expecting trouble and more out of habit, but you never knew. The killers might have come right back to town, like dogs returning to their own sick.
Conn pulled out a chair for Mary then swiveled around to put his back to the wall, facing her and the street.
Sheffield took off his hat and sat between them. His black hair ran in a dark ring across his temples and the back of his head. The crown was bald. Exposed, it somehow magnified the hard, bony face and drooping black mustache.
“I don’t know what you folks are in the mood for, but we can get you breakfast or lunch. I believe the lunch special’s probably ready by now.”
“What is it?” Conn said.
“Beef stew. That’s what it is most days here. Mike makes a real good stew. Folks come in special for it. So he makes it most days. Comes with bread and butter.”
“All right,” Conn said. “Mary, what would you like?”
“It doesn’t matter to me. Anything will do.”
Conn understood that she was uncomfortable spending his money and didn’t want to make a fuss. While he respected hercharacter, he wasn’t about to stand for any of that nonsense. The woman hadn’t eaten, and she’d spent the morning digging a grave.
“Mary will have breakfast and the lunch special. In fact, we all will. That all right with you, Bill?”
Sheffield nodded.
Mary looked aghast. “Conn, I don’t need?—”
“What do you got for breakfast?” Conn asked the waitress.
“We got what you might expect, I suppose. Eggs, bacon, toast, home fries.”
“Well, I never met a piece a bacon I couldn’t wrangle,” Conn said. “Why don’t you bring out a plate of bacon for us to share.”
“How many pieces, sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I reckon a dozen and a half pieces ought to get us started, what do you folks think?”
