Houser put his hand on the canvas that covered Sobel’s body. “I will make all the arrangements with Mr. Welsh. I want the best coffin for Mr. Sobel.” He looked at Knox’s body. “And the cheapest for this . . . this murderous despoiler of a young man’s life.”
There was no funeral for either one of the bodies, nor did anyone but Welsh and the two gravediggers show up at the cemetery when Sobel and Knox were buried. There were a few comments around town about Knox, none of them favorable, as the general consensus seemed to be that his death was no great loss.
There were some, however, who questioned why Houser, who had professed that Sobel was an old friend, and had even bought an expensive coffin for him, had not arranged for a funeral.
* * *
Two days after Knox and Sobel were buried, Asa Hanlon, who owned a ranch seven miles west of Chugwater, stepped into the kitchen, sniffed audibly, then smiled. “Honey, I don’t know what you’re cookin’, but it sure smells good.”
Jenny Hanlon, who was standing at the stove, laughed. “Asa, I do believe I could fry shoe leather in bacon grease, and you would tell me it smelled good.”
“Jenny, my love, if you fried it, it would smell good ’n I’d most likely eat it, too.” Asa walked over and kissed her on the cheek, then he bent over and kissed her swollen belly. “What do you think, little baby in there?” he asked. “Do you think it smells good?”
“You’re crazy,” Jenny said with another laugh.
“Yes, crazy for you,” Asa said.
“How is it going?” Jenny asked as she whipped flour into the meat drippings to make gravy.
“I’ve got five of ’em cut ’n branded,” Asa said as he grabbed a biscuit and took a bite from it. “We’ve got close to two hundred head now. You know what, Jenny? By the time little Johnny is old enough to help out on the ranch, we’ll be big enough to start hiring some hands.”
Jenny patted her protruding stomach. “What makes you think it’ll be a Johnny? It could be an Alice, you know.”
Asa shook his head. “No, the first one’s got to be a boy. I’ll need ’im to help me out, then we can . . .”
“Asa, there are some riders coming here,” Jenny said anxiously, interrupting her husband in midsentence.
“Wonder who it is and what they want?” Asa said. With the biscuit still in hand, he stepped out onto the porch of the small, two-room house.
“What can I do for you gents?” he asked.
“This here your place?” the lead rider asked.
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“How many head are you runnin’?”
The curious expression on Asa’s face was replaced with a look of irritation. “Mister, I don’t know that that is any of your business.”
“Well, seein’ as we’re about to take ’em, I plan on makin’ it my business.”
“The hell you say!” Asa ran back into the house, then reached up over the door for his shotgun.
“Asa, what is it?” Jenny asked in alarm. “Why are you getting your gun?”
Before Asa could load his gun, two of the men came rushing in behind him, pistols in hand. Both men fired, and Asa went down.
“Asa!” Jenny screamed.
The two men shot her as well, and she fell on top of her husband. With her last, conscious act, she put her hand over his.
“Let’s get them cows,” one of them said.
“Let’s eat first,” another said as he grabbed one of the biscuits.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Meagan was standing in the front of her store, looking out onto the street, when she saw Ethan Terrell driving by. Seeing him come to town wasn’t in itself unusual, but what he was carrying in the back of the buckboard was. Two pairs of legs were protruding from a canvas that covered a couple of bodies, and one pair of legs belonged to a woman.
By now several of the townspeople had also noticed the macabre cargo, and they followed the buckboard down to Welsh’s undertaking parlor.
“Mary Ellen, watch the store for a few minutes, would you?” Meagan called.
“Yes, ma’am,” the young lady replied.
Meagan knew that her curiosity was rather morbid, but the bodies were obviously that of a man and a woman, and that was too extraordinary to let pass. She had to know who it was, and what happened to them.
When the canvas was removed to reveal the bodies of Asa and Jenny Hanlon, Meagan felt tears burning her eyes. She wished she had not let her curiosity get the better of her. Jenny Hanlon had been in her dress shop just the day before.
“I’m so tired of being pregnant and having to wear large dresses. I want a beautiful dress that I can wear for the christening of the baby,” she had said.
“How long before the baby will be born?” Meagan had asked.
“I think just within another couple of weeks. You should see Asa. He is so excited about it! And of course, I am, too.”
“Well, that will be plenty of time to make a dress for you. And you’ll look beautiful in it, too.”
“Oh, I so want to. Asa has been so sweet to me for this entire pregnancy, and I want to look good for him again.”
But there would be no christening, and there would be no baby. Asa and Jenny Hanlon had both been shot.
Unable to hold back the tears, Meagan turned away and hurried back to her shop.
“Mary Ellen,” she said when she got back. “I’m going to be gone for a while. You can stay, or close up the shop, whichever you choose.”
“Miss Parker, what is it? Who were those two in the back of Mr. Terrell’s buckboard?”
“It was the Hanlons, Mary Ellen.”
“The Hanlons? But Mrs. Hanlon was just . . .”
“Yes, Jenny was in here just yesterday,” Meagan said as she wiped a tear away.
“Meagan,” Duff said when Meagan came riding
