I rode forty miles for medicine, returned with a doctor, and spent three days beside her bed.
She died before the snow melted.
We had wanted children.
We never had them.
For months afterward, I blamed myself for every small thing I could remember. The day I'd stayed late repairing a fence. The morning I'd spoken sharply because a calf had escaped. The time she'd asked me to come inside before dark and I'd told her there was still work to finish.
Eventually, I sold the spread.
I kept Chester, my saddle, my father's revolver, and a small wooden box containing my wife's letters.
Then I started riding.
For years, I took ranch jobs wherever I could find them. I repaired fences, broke horses, drove cattle, and slept in bunkhouses where nobody asked too many questions. I became good at leaving places before anyone expected me to stay.
I wasn't brave.
I was mostly tired.
And when I rode into Cuervo Creek, I had been thinking about nothing more ambitious than earning enough money to get through another winter.
Then I saw those two women hanging from a tree.
And suddenly there was something I couldn't ride away from.
That night, I slept in a chair outside their room.
The widow insisted I could use the spare bed.
I declined.
Not because I expected the deputy to attack the stagehouse immediately, but because I had seen the way he looked at the women when they accused him. He had not looked surprised.
He had looked frightened.
A frightened man with a badge, a gun, and secrets worth hundreds of dollars could be more dangerous than a drunken outlaw.
Shortly after midnight, I heard footsteps on the porch.
I stood.
Three men approached the front door.
One was the heavyset baker from the tree.
The second was the tall ranch hand who had helped lower the women.
The third wore a black coat and carried a leather satchel.
I opened the door before they knocked.
The baker raised both hands.
"Easy, stranger. We're not here for trouble."
"Then you've picked a strange hour to visit."
He nodded toward the man with the satchel.
"This is the physician from Willow Bend. Widow sent for him."
The doctor stepped forward.
He was elderly, with silver spectacles and an exhausted expression.
"I understand two women were injured."
I moved aside.
"Come in."
The physician examined them carefully.
He confirmed that they needed rest, fluids, food, and continued observation, but he found no immediate sign of a life-threatening injury. Their ankles required treatment, and neither should travel long distances until their strength returned.
When he finished, he turned toward me.
"Who did this?"