what happened.”
Sharp plopped down close to the fire, and we exchanged glances as we waited. I suspected that McAllen might be crying. After a long moment, he tossed the burlap bag over the fire to me and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could think to say.
McAllen slammed his fist into the dirt. “Murdered.” Sharp and I waited, and when McAllen spoke again, he seemed to have regained some control. “A white man paid the Utes to seize and murder my daughter. He told them when and how. Nothing was spur of the moment.”
“Was it one of the men in the posse?” Sharp asked.
“The boy doesn’t know. He wasn’t allowed to hear the men talk.” McAllen threw the handful of raisins into his mouth and chewed. “He knows that a man entered their camp loaded down with supplies and left with her scalp and a necklace.” McAllen’s voice broke with the last word of that sentence. After a minute, he continued. “I gave her that necklace last Christmas. I know that was the one the Indians gave him, because she wrote to me that she wore it every day.”
“The body?” Sharp asked.
“The boy has no idea. Somewhere back along the trail. He was sent away from the camp to hunt when they murdered her.”
Sharp seemed to think things over. “Could be the man just haggled to get her effects for the family, but it don’t sound right. Why didn’t the posse just kill ’em all an’ simply take her stuff?”
“Stuff?” An edge had come back into McAllen’s voice.
“Sorry, Joseph. Poor choice of words.”
“Forget it,” McAllen said. “But you’re right. Two big questions. Why did the posse barter instead of attack, and who paid the Utes to do this?”
“You think we can get the answer in Durango?” I asked.
“Yes. From that posse. We’ll leave at first light and ride down to the base camp to gather up our supplies and the packhorses. I want to be in Durango by nightfall.”
That will be a hard day’s ride, I thought. “When will Red join us?” I asked.
McAllen made a motion with his hand, and I threw him the bag of raisins. After chewing a mouthful, he said, “We didn’t hurt the boy. He saw no reason not to tell us what little he knew.” McAllen had understood the real intent of my question. “Red will stay with him until he’s well enough to fend for himself or possibly take him back to Durango. The boy’s choice.”
Sharp put another stick in the fire. “Ya said there were two big questions. I think there’s three.”
“What else?” McAllen seemed nervous about what might come next.
“Why did someone do this?”
“I don’t give a damn why.”
“Joseph, I don’t think preachers and schoolmarms make a hell of a lot of enemies.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning, the person who did this probably meant to hurt Captain Joseph McAllen.”
Chapter 14
When we rode into Durango the next evening, not a single person could be seen on the street. We stopped in the middle of the road and looked around for some sign of life. It felt ghoulish until I heard a hymn coming from the church.
“Could the whole town be in church?” I asked.
McAllen spurred his horse forward. “They’re conducting services for my daughter.”
The only church in town sat at the end of the lane, and the entire area around it was crowded with carriages, buckboards, and horses. After we corralled the packhorses at the livery, we tied up our horses in front of a saloon about seventy yards away from the church. As I stepped out of the stirrup, I could see only four or five people inside the saloon instead of the normal bunch of rowdies just off their shift.
McAllen immediately marched off toward the church. I followed reluctantly. I smelled bad after nearly a week in the wilderness, I needed a shave, and my clothes were covered in filth. When McAllen opened one of the church’s double doors, a sea of men’s backs blocked our entry. McAllen
Sharp plopped down close to the fire, and we exchanged glances as we waited. I suspected that McAllen might be crying. After a long moment, he tossed the burlap bag over the fire to me and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could think to say.
McAllen slammed his fist into the dirt. “Murdered.” Sharp and I waited, and when McAllen spoke again, he seemed to have regained some control. “A white man paid the Utes to seize and murder my daughter. He told them when and how. Nothing was spur of the moment.”
“Was it one of the men in the posse?” Sharp asked.
“The boy doesn’t know. He wasn’t allowed to hear the men talk.” McAllen threw the handful of raisins into his mouth and chewed. “He knows that a man entered their camp loaded down with supplies and left with her scalp and a necklace.” McAllen’s voice broke with the last word of that sentence. After a minute, he continued. “I gave her that necklace last Christmas. I know that was the one the Indians gave him, because she wrote to me that she wore it every day.”
“The body?” Sharp asked.
“The boy has no idea. Somewhere back along the trail. He was sent away from the camp to hunt when they murdered her.”
Sharp seemed to think things over. “Could be the man just haggled to get her effects for the family, but it don’t sound right. Why didn’t the posse just kill ’em all an’ simply take her stuff?”
“Stuff?” An edge had come back into McAllen’s voice.
“Sorry, Joseph. Poor choice of words.”
“Forget it,” McAllen said. “But you’re right. Two big questions. Why did the posse barter instead of attack, and who paid the Utes to do this?”
“You think we can get the answer in Durango?” I asked.
“Yes. From that posse. We’ll leave at first light and ride down to the base camp to gather up our supplies and the packhorses. I want to be in Durango by nightfall.”
That will be a hard day’s ride, I thought. “When will Red join us?” I asked.
McAllen made a motion with his hand, and I threw him the bag of raisins. After chewing a mouthful, he said, “We didn’t hurt the boy. He saw no reason not to tell us what little he knew.” McAllen had understood the real intent of my question. “Red will stay with him until he’s well enough to fend for himself or possibly take him back to Durango. The boy’s choice.”
Sharp put another stick in the fire. “Ya said there were two big questions. I think there’s three.”
“What else?” McAllen seemed nervous about what might come next.
“Why did someone do this?”
“I don’t give a damn why.”
“Joseph, I don’t think preachers and schoolmarms make a hell of a lot of enemies.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning, the person who did this probably meant to hurt Captain Joseph McAllen.”
Chapter 14
When we rode into Durango the next evening, not a single person could be seen on the street. We stopped in the middle of the road and looked around for some sign of life. It felt ghoulish until I heard a hymn coming from the church.
“Could the whole town be in church?” I asked.
McAllen spurred his horse forward. “They’re conducting services for my daughter.”
The only church in town sat at the end of the lane, and the entire area around it was crowded with carriages, buckboards, and horses. After we corralled the packhorses at the livery, we tied up our horses in front of a saloon about seventy yards away from the church. As I stepped out of the stirrup, I could see only four or five people inside the saloon instead of the normal bunch of rowdies just off their shift.
McAllen immediately marched off toward the church. I followed reluctantly. I smelled bad after nearly a week in the wilderness, I needed a shave, and my clothes were covered in filth. When McAllen opened one of the church’s double doors, a sea of men’s backs blocked our entry. McAllen
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