Crow Creek Crossing by Charles G. West Page B

captive in the past. This thought was all he had left to hope for. Leaving the bodies, he ran toward the house, only to have the last of his hopes disappear when he found Skinner’s body lying flat on his back before the front door, his pants legs singed from being so close to the burning house. His neck, face, and upper chest looked to have been torn apart by a shotgun blast at close range. Still, there was enough left to recognize him as the huge man whom Cole had been threatened with in the hotel dining room. He was easy to identify. The man called Slade had called him Skinner.
    So this was not the work of an Indian war party, after all.
The gang of murderers has come back to destroy my life,
he thought. But how could they have known this was his place? He turned and looked at the pile of burned timbers with only two partial walls still standing. His heart pounded with the dreadful scenehe might find if he entered the ruins, but he knew that he had to go in. He had to know for sure.
    Suffering a reluctance that he had never known before, Cole went into the smoky ruins of what was left of John Cochran’s dream, stepping over charred timbers and debris as he made his way into the front room. The first body was in the middle of the floor, burned beyond recognition, and he sobbed as he knelt beside it. Judging by the size, he knew that it had been Mabel, since Ann was much smaller.
    After a moment, he rose to his feet and forced himself to go into what had been his and Ann’s bedroom. There he found her. The sight of the fragile body, which was, like Mabel’s, burned beyond recognition, was too much for him to stand. He sank to his knees helplessly, his heart beating as if about to burst from his chest, and great sobs of despair choked his throat so that he could barely breathe. Unlike with Mabel’s body, there was not a shred of clothing evident, making it impossible not to imagine the torture she must have suffered before her death. He dropped from his knees, no longer able to remain in that position, to sit beside the charred body of his wife, amid the ruins of his life. For without her, there was no life. Drowning in total despair, he sat there beside her for over an hour, lost, with no reason to go on.
    He sat inside the burned house until the afternoon began to drain away into evening. A snort from the big Morgan gelding reminded him that there were still responsibilities to take care of, and he realized that his horse wanted water but would not move as long as his reins were on the ground. Drained of tears and grief, Cole strained to pull himself together.
    â€œI’ve got graves to dig,” he announced to his grieving soul, and he got to his feet.
    The bodies of Lucy and Skeeter were in the corner of the room, both heads shattered by gunshots at close range. He had to pause and take a deep breath when he thought about the precocious little rascal who used to dog his every step. He quickly told himself to keep his mind on the chore to be done and went at once to the barn, where he knew he would find a shovel. In the barn, he also found the carcasses of John’s two horses. The murderers had evidently thought the pair not worth their trouble.
    It was well after dark when he finished digging the one large grave. He had thought about digging Ann’s grave apart from the others, but he changed his mind when he decided it would be better for her to be with her family, and not alone. When he finished filling the grave, he said a few words over the dead. For the most part, it was an apology to them all, especially to his beloved Ann, for not being there to protect them. He would forever feel guilt over their deaths.
    Although he had not eaten since early that morning, he had no desire for food, not even coffee, but he felt a weariness that seemed to drain his very soul, so he lay down next to the grave to sleep, reluctant to leave Ann’s body.
    When he woke up, he found that a light snow had