Chapter Two
MONEY SPENT ITSELFquickly.
Izzy reluctantly handed over a few of her precious coins for the newspaper. Over two weeks had passed since she’d last seen her family, and shehadto know what was happening. Waiting for the lawyer to return from Roebuck was torture.
Newspaper in hand, she scurried outside and darted around people, dogs, and crates until she reached the shabby boardinghouse where she’d taken up residence. She was dying to page through the newspaper, but she didn’t dare. Not until she was safely back in her room.
As far as anyone here knew—even the lawyer she’d paid for—she was Miss Mary Brown. To the lawyer, she was a concerned cousin of the Sutcliffes. To the other ladies in the boardinghouse, she was waiting here in Cheyenne to meet her brother.
With a friendly nod to the boardinghouse proprietor, Izzy tamped down her anxiety and walked upstairs at a normal pace. But once she was safely in her plain, dark room, she yanked off her hat and dropped onto the bed.
Squinting at the newsprint on the pages laid out before her, she traced every line until—there!
Bending down close to the page to see the small words in the shadowy light better, Izzy gobbled up the text like a starving woman.
Sutcliffe Gang Found Guilty, the headline read. It went on to describe the short trial, which lasted only a few hours.Only the patriarch Raul “Rascal” Sutcliffe and his younger son, Henry Sutcliffe, were in attendance. The elder Sutcliffe son was unable to attend the trial due to the serious injury he obtained upon apprehension. The youngest Sutcliffe boy, whose name is unknown, remains unaccounted for.
Because they’d harmed no one during these crimes, the judge took pity on the three and sentenced them to 30 years in prison for various charges of theft and robbery.It is notable that the Sutcliffe men defended themselves in court.
Izzy’s breath caught in her throat. She re-read the last line. They defended themselves? That made no sense. After all, she’d hired a lawyer with nearly every last cent she’d taken from the cabin.
Hands trembling, she stared at the lines on the page, as if they might rearrange themselves into something that made sense. Looking for a lawyer to defend her family was the first thing she’d done when she got to Cheyenne. She hadn’t even put her horse in the livery or taken a room at this boardinghouse. Instead, she’d strolled up and down the streets until she found a ramshackle building that had a sign out front advertising Ignatius P. Rogers, Esquire. The man had met with her immediately, listened to how Papa had only the best of intentions when he took money from the rich and powerful, and agreed to take on Papa, Carter, and Henry as his clients. She’d paid him a painful amount of money to do so, and he headed west to the town of Roebuck the very next day to meet with his new clients.
She’d waited impatiently every day for a telegram or a letter the past two weeks, but nothing had arrived. She’d told herself he was busy putting together the best defense possible. That hewas probably working himself to the point of exhaustion. That he had to wait for a judge to arrive in town.
But now . . .
Izzy buried her face in her hands, willing herself not to cry. It was clear now the supposed lawyer had taken advantage of her. He’d stolen Papa’s money—the money he intended to help people with—and left town.
And now Papa and Henry were going to spend years in prison, and Carter . . . Izzy felt sick at not knowing how he was faring.
What was she to do?
She stood suddenly, the paper sliding to the floor next to her feet. She could return to Roebuck. It was unlikely the lawyer was there at all, but at least she could find out more about Carter. Except . . .
The youngest Sutcliffe boy, whose name is unknown, remains unaccounted for.
That was her. She wasn’t a boy, but those men who’d found them at the shipping company didn’t know that. All they’d likely seen as she rode off into the distance was a figure in men’s clothing, her hair tucked up into her hat. And of course, her family wouldn’t feel the need to correct them.
She had to be smart. It was only by a miracle that no one had noticed the color of her hair beneath her hat the morning she’d returned to Roebuck. By this point, everyone there likely knew the Sutcliffes had red hair. From Carter’s vibrant shade to Papa’s dulled with strands of gray, it wouldn’t take any time for someone to connect her to them. It would be obvious even if she went as a girl.
Izzy paced the room, back and forth, over and over, as thoughts tumbled through her muddled mind. She stopped in front of the bed as her three biggest concerns became clear. First, she needed to learn about Carter and how he was faring.Second, she needed to help them all . . . somehow. And third, she needed some way to support herself. She’d sold her horse to afford this room, but those funds wouldn’t last indefinitely.
With her mind clearer now, Izzy raced out the door and down the stairs, where she asked the woman who ran the boardinghouse for a few sheets of paper, a pen, and ink. With no desk provided in her sparse room, she sat on the floor and leaned over to begin writing.
When she was finished, Izzy felt certain she was well on her way to fixing at least two of her problems. She’d written two short letters. One was addressed to the judge named in the newspaper article, asking whether there was any possibility to change the judgment he’d issued. The second she’d addressed to the town marshal of Roebuck, Wyoming Territory, and in it, she inquired after Carter’s health. She’d signed both letters as Ignatius P. Rogers, Esquire. After all, it wasn’t as if the man was around to collect his mail. It would be easy to pose as his assistant and do that for him.
Izzy paused, the pen still in her hand, as she considered her third letter. She’d intended to write to someone to inquire after Mr. Rogers’ whereabouts. But she didn’t know where to send the letter, much less who to address it to, because she couldn’t even say if the lawyer had traveled east or west. It was just as likely that he was on his way to California as it was New York.
Her shoulders slumped as she laid the pen down. She barely had enough money to remain at this boardinghouse for another week, and that was if she only ate the two meals included in her room and board and bought nothing else at all. Even the cost to mail these letters ate into one more night’s stay.
