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She nodded. “Taking someone’s life isn’t a trivial thing.”
“No, it isn’t. Shows you have feelings.”
“I suppose. I had no choice in the matter though, and I feel terrible that it might be the cause of someone wanting to hurt Anna.”
“They’ll be found.”
“I hope so. No little girl should have to experience that.” She quieted for a few more moments and then asked, “Could the shots have been a warning for you, instead? Do you have enemies here?”
“Not that I know of, but anything is possible.” He hadn’t thought about viewing the shooting from that angle. He was again impressed by how intelligent she was. “I’ll think on that.”
“Please do.”
True to his word, Whit came by the house a few hours later and he and Colt rode out. Their destination was an hour’s ride from Paradise. Dun and his dead outlaw brother, Jeb, were sons of Ethan Bailey, a man rumored to have fled to the Territory ahead of a murder charge down in Missouri. The wide, unexplored expanses of America’s untamed West were perfect hiding places for those not wanting to be found, and if they kept their heads down, they could live out their lives in relative peace and anonymity. Ethan Bailey had eschewed both, however. He’d been involved in everything from claim jumping and horse theft to drunken barroom brawls. It was the brawling that eventually did him in. Three years ago, he’d been gut shot in a Casper saloon. By the time Jeb and Dun brought him to Colt, it was too late.
The Bailey place was as disreputable as the family’s reputation. The small, poorly constructed timber cabin had a listing tar paper roof held down by boulders. Waist-high grasses surrounded it, making it appear abandoned. Colt and Whit reined their mounts to a walk and took the well-worn path cut through the vegetation to the weathered broken-down porch. Two thin mangy dogs tied to the porch angrily announced their arrival. Dun stepped out, rifle in hand. “What the hell you want?” Dressed in dirty, well-worn clothes, and rip cord-thin as his dogs, he was tall, bearded, and had eyes that spat venom. How he supported himself other than doing the occasional odd job for those who’d allow him near their homes or property, Colt didn’t know.
“Looking for information on who fired on Colt’s wife and daughter,” Whit replied.
The feral eyes swung to Colt who met them steadily.
“Know nothing about it. But seeing as how you said she killed my brother, I’d call that justice.”
“Only cowards shoot at children,” Colt returned coldly. “You know any, Dun?”
“You accusing me?”
“You a coward?”
Whit interrupted. “Where were you yesterday around eleven?”
“Here. Ask my dogs.”
His smug smile tightened Colt’s jaw.
“Cartridges came from a Springfield,” Whit said.
“Dozens of Springfields around here. You can’t prove it was mine.”
“No, we can’t,” Colt said. “But spread the word that whoever did it should leave the Territory if they want to keep living.”
“You threatening me?”
“If you were the coward who shot at my wife and child, yes.”
“Get off my land.”
“Gladly.”
Colt and the sheriff complied.
Once they cleared the grass and were back out on the road, Whit said, “You can’t make threats like that, Colt.”
“Talk to me when someone takes shots at your family.”
“Point taken.”
“Regan wondered if the person might be an enemy?”
