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“This has to go through the operator in Cheyenne,” he explained. “Their line’s been down a few days. I’ll pass your message along as soon as things are fixed there.”
Regan knew her family was probably worried because it had been over a week since her departure. “How long might that be?”
He shrugged. “Could be a couple days. Could be more, but I’ll send it on soon as I can.”
One of his buddies said, “Make sure of that, Odell. Don’t want her coming back and shooting up the place,” and he chuckled.
Regan rolled her eyes. “Thank you, gentlemen.” She looked over at the window. A handful of people were staring in at her through the glass. She wondered if this was how it felt to be a circus attraction.
“Your move, Odell.”
Regan left the men to their game. Outside, she nodded at the curious onlookers, climbed back on the wagon, and the sheriff drove them away.
Next to the telegraph office stood a bank, a barbershop, and a seamstress shop. On the other side of the street was a dentist’s office and Beck’s undertaking establishment. She thought about poor Mr. Casey. “Did Mr. Casey have family?”
“No.”
“Will someone pay for his burial?” She would willingly offer some of her own gold to ensure he rested in peace.
“I’m pretty sure the stage company will.”
“If they don’t, would you let me know? I’d like to help.”
“Will do. That’s very kind of you.”
Her thoughts turned to the dead outlaw. Would he be mourned? “Do you know the dead man’s name?”
“Jeb Bailey.”
“Does he have family here?”
“Yes, a brother named Dun.”
“Will you relay my condolences and explain the circumstances?”
“I will.”
“And the other two outlaws?”
“Jess Rawl and Abel Corman. Corman’s the one you plugged in the arm. They’re loners as far as I know. Both are also wanted by the law in other parts of the county.”
The businesses gave way to a small cluster of homes. A few were large, showing off turrets and gingerbread trim like the ones she’d seen in Ohio when she’d attended school at Oberlin, but most were cabins built from timber and stone. “How long has the town existed?”
“Since about 1820. It started as a trading post run by Odell and Doc’s grandfather Ben. Odell said they took one look at the valley and called it Paradise. Back then there were only a few cabins, fur trappers, and Indians. Now, about fifty people live in town and a couple hundred more are on ranches and homesteads nearby.” He stopped the wagon in front of a small one-story home with a porch on the front. “This is it,” he said.
An old woman wearing a long-sleeved brown dress answered the sheriff’s knock. Her thinning gray hair pulled back in a severe bun set off a bright-skinned bony face. The garment’s frayed cuffs and hem spoke to its age.
“Afternoon, Miss Minnie. This is Miss Carmichael. Doc said she’s to stay with you.”
She looked Regan up and down with unveiled disapproval. “You’re Colt’s intended?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Heard you shot him.”
“Accidentally, yes.” Regan felt like she should be wearing a sign with those two words written on it.
The brown face soured before she turned to the sheriff. “How long she staying?”
