“Well, Sheriff, it looks like they are getting ready to leave, so I guess I’d better wander over there and get aboard,” Falcon said.
“Good luck to you, Mr. MacCallister. And thanks again for your help,” Sheriff Ferrell said.
“You’re welcome,” Falcon called back as he walked away.
As Falcon headed toward the stage, he crossed paths with a tall, dark-haired, bearded man who was going in the opposite direction. The bearded man was carrying a shotgun.
CHAPTER 4
“Sheriff,” the man with the shotgun said, nodding his greeting as he reached the front of the express office.
“Hello, Kerry,” the sheriff replied. “Could’ve used you and that Greener a bit earlier.”
“Looks to me like you handled it pretty good,” Kerry said. “You kept them outlaws from gettin’ the money shipment, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, we did that. But I reckon Mrs. Snyder’s takin’ scarce comfort about now.”
Kerry looked toward Mrs. Snyder, who was still sitting beside her dead husband, weeping quietly.
“Yeah, I see what you mean. This don’t hardly seem like the proper time an’ all, but we got orders to get the money on to Oro Blanco. I hate to be botherin’ her right now, but ...”
“I’m sure Mrs. Snyder will understand,” Sheriff Ferrell said, interrupting Kerry in mid-sentence. “Come on, we’ll go see her.”
Kerry stepped up onto the front porch and stood there for a moment, looking down at George Snyder. He’d known George for a couple of years now, ever since he took on the job as shotgun guard for the stage line. He liked George, who had a really good sense of humor and always had some funny story to tell.
Even now, there appeared to be almost a smile on his face, as if he was laughing at something from the other side.
Kerry touched the brim of his hat in a salute. “Ma’am,” he said. “I’m real sorry about your loss, and I’m sorry to bring up business now. But the driver sent me over to pick up a delivery.”
Mrs. Snyder nodded, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Yes,” she said. “I understand that it has to go, and George got it ready earlier this morning. If you’ll come on inside, I’ll get it for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Kerry replied, following her inside.
Mrs. Snyder opened a safe, then took out a canvas bag and set it on the counter. The bag was sealed shut with a padlock, and Mrs. Snyder opened it. “There’s fifteen thousand dollars here,” she said. “Would you count it, then sign here, please?” she asked.
Sheriff Ferrell had come inside to watch.
“Yep, fifteen thousand, just like you said,” Kerry said after he finished counting.
“Sheriff, would you sign here as a witness to the transfer, please?” Mrs. Snyder asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m real sorry about your husband,” Kerry said again as the sheriff signed. “But I’m glad them yahoos is all in jail. I wouldn’t want to run across them out on the road.”
“Well, you aren’t going to have to worry about them,” the sheriff said. “The only place those people are going from here is hell.”
As Kerry left the office, he met the undertaker. Significantly, the man Falcon had shot was still lying in the street, surrounded now by a handful of the morbidly curious. The undertaker and his assistant had gone first to see to George Snyder’s body.
The undertaker, who was dressed in a black swallowtail coat and a tall black hat, touched the brim of his hat with a white-gloved hand.
“You have my sympathy in your bereavement, Mrs. Snyder,” he said with professional somberness.
At the stage depot, there were four other people besides Falcon who were waiting to board the stage. One of the passengers was an attractive woman with copper hair. She was accompanied by her ten-year-old son. The little boy had fire-red hair and a face that was covered with freckles.
The only other male passenger was short, overweight, and had a round, puffy face. He looked to be in his early forties.
The last passenger was a very pretty young woman with black hair, deep brown eyes, and a smooth, golden complexion. Seeing her made Falcon catch his breath for a moment, because she reminded him so much of his own late wife, Marie Gentle Stream.
A second look confirmed that, like his wife, the young woman passenger was actually Indian. She was dressed as a white woman, though, wearing a calico dress of yellow with a pattern of tiny red flowers and green leaves.
The driver stuck his head into the waiting room.
“Folks, my name is Gentry. I’ll be your driver today. We’ve got your luggage all stowed and the team hitched up. If you’ll climb aboard, we’ll get under way.”
The five passengers went outside to the stage. Falcon glanced first toward the front of the express office, then out into the street. He was glad to see that both bodies had now been moved.
The short, fat man opened the door for the young mother, and graciously allowed her and her son to get into the coach first. When the young Indian woman started to board as well, however, the man stepped in front of
