He went back into the house and got breakfast and coffee started. He put his back into it, figuring they ought to tuck inenough grub to hold them. There was no telling when they would sit to a meal again.
While the bacon and eggs were sizzling, he took out Marshal Andrew’s note and reread the names, memorizing the marshal’s description of each man.
Apparently, one of the men, Jesse Turpin, was young with blond hair and green eyes and wore two tied-down Colts with pearly grips. He had a reputation as a quickdraw. He’d faced men and put them in the ground.
Which meant something.
Conn looked forward to facing him and returning the favor.
Sheffield came in and poured himself a mug of coffee and they sat and ate and talked about the day ahead, figuring they’d stop on their way to Fairplay at a neighbor’s and let them know what happened.
It was a risk. A neighbor might be friends of the Blakes. But the stock would need tending.
“Should be able to get out of Fairplay well before noon,” Sheffield said.
“You got anything to tend to before we leave?” Conn said. “You do, I’ll give you a hand.”
“No, my sister’ll take care of things. She got along all right before I come to stay with her. I reckon she’ll be all right with me gone for a while. Truth be told, she might even relish my absence.”
“All right.”
“Her husband up and died here a year back. Went to bed one night, complaining of a headache and never woke up the next morning.”
“She have any kids?”
Sheffield nodded and lifted the steaming mug to his drooping mustache. “Couple of them. Boy and a girl. They’re six and eight, old enough to help out around the place.”
“That’s good.”
“I only have one boy myself,” Sheffield said. “And he’s been on his own these last couple of years. Lives in Stump Run.”
Conn knew the place. It was maybe a day’s ride from Fairplay, a logging boomtown on the middle fork of the South Platte, a rough place full of saloons and cat houses and gambling establishments.
Sheffield stared into his coffee. “Tried to get Junior to join me down here. His name’s William, like me, but he goes by Junior. Anyway, he didn’t want to come. He’s cutting a swath of his own, so he says. Far as I can tell, he’s just getting into trouble.”
“A man’ll do what a man’ll do,” Conn said.
“That’s the gospel truth if I ever heard it spoke. But when it’s your boy, sometimes you wish he wouldn’t.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Junior’s a good enough man. Honest, not afraid to work. And he’s got sand. But he’s got a wild streak, too, and he’s not always the best judge of character.”
“That’s a dangerous combination.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve been meaning to ride back up there and check on him. He won’t like that, but I won’t have my son running around with Ligget and that crew.”
“Ligget?”
“Big man up there in Stump Run. Owns a saloon and a gambling house and a couple of bordellos. Stump Run’s growing, and Ligget’s planning to ride it all the way to the top. And he doesn’t care how many men he has to ruin to get there.”
“We can ride there now if you want, drop in on your boy,” Conn said.
Sheffield shook his head. “Junior’ll keep. But I’d stop by there on the way back through, if you ain’t in a hurry.”
“We’ll do it,” Conn said.
Sheffield nodded. They just sat for a moment. Sheffield seemed to hesitate, then said, “Anything happens to me, and you run into Junior, tell him something for me.”
