Again the men laughed.
“Yeah, but what will we be doin’?” the man asked again.
“Mister, if you are in a private room with a beautiful woman, and you can’t figure out what to do, then perhaps you have no business going in there with her in the first place.”
This time the laughter turned to hoots and howls. “Jimmy, my boy, I tell you what,” one of the men said. “You pay for me, and I’ll invite you to come along and watch and learn.”
That elicited more laughter.
“Of course,” Dupree continued, “none of this can happen until we get our establishment built. I’m wondering if there are any carpenters among you who would volunteer to build it? Those who help will be given ten dollars credit toward drinks, food, or women.”
As Dupree knew there would be, more than a dozen men rushed forward to offer their services.
“Thank you, gentlemen, thank you,” Dupree said. “I think you will find everything that you need to begin construction in the wagons.”
In Green River, nearly every business had closed down for Roy Hilliard’s funeral. Hilliard had been an exceptionally popular man in the town. He was active in the Holy Spirit Episcopal Church, a volunteer in the Green River Militia, and a member of the Green River City Band. On the Fourth of July he had played a trumpet solo at the Green River Independence Day picnic.
Because of his popularity, the entire town turned out for his funeral, and the band, wearing black armbands, led the cortege from the church to the cemetery. Behind the band was the glass-sided hearse, brought by train from the St. Louis Carriage Company just two months earlier. Behind the hearse was a buggy, its wheels laced with black bunting. Cindy and Roy Jr. rode in the buggy. The rest of the town fell in behind and followed it to the cemetery.
Hawke attended the funeral, along with Dorchester and Pamela. In addition to Dorchester, there were several other ranchers present to pay their last respects to their friend.
When the hearse reached the cemetery, it stopped in front of an already opened grave, and the pall bearers—a mix of ranchers and townspeople—moved the black-lacquered coffin from the hearse to the grave, then lowered it by ropes. Cindy and Roy Jr. sat on folding chairs under a canopy. Father Cumbie, the vicar, stepped to the head of the grave and began reading from the Book of Common Prayer.
“‘Man, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
“‘In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?
“‘Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Savior, deliver us not into the pains of eternal death.’”
The vicar nodded at Cindy, and she and Roy Jr. stood up, then walked over to the mound of dirt alongside the grave. Cindy picked up some dirt and put it in Roy’s hand, then picked up a handful for herself.
The vicar continued, “‘For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God, in his wise providence, to take out of this world the soul of our deceased brother, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ.’”
Cindy and Roy Jr. dropped dirt on the coffin, then, weeping, she turned away. Dorchester stepped up to her and, putting his arms around her, led her back to her chair.
Later, Dorchester brought her out to Northumbria for a meal and to relax after the funeral.
“I can’t get the sight out of my mind, of Roy lying dead while that horror of a man stood over him with his gun in his hand,” she said. “He was one of the most frightening creatures I’ve even seen.” She made a motion across her face with her finger. “He was disfigured by a terrible scar.”
Hawke, who had been quiet till then, looked up when he heard that. “Ethan Dancer,” he said.
“Ethan Dancer?” Pamela said. “What was he doing out there? He’s working for Bailey McPherson.”
“That’s a good question,” Hawke said.
“What will you do now, Mrs. Hilliard?” Dorchester asked.
“I don’t know. Go back to Pennsylvania, I suppose,” Cindy answered. She shook her head. “I really don’t know what else I could do.”
“What about money?”
“I have enough money for railway tickets back home. Once I get there, I will find something to do, some way to raise Roy Jr.”
“How about your cattle? How many head do you have?”
“We had five hundred head,” Cindy said.
“Why, at thirty dollars a head, that’s fifteen thousand dollars,” Dorchester said. “That should be enough to keep you and your son quite comfortable for a while.”
“I don’t have them anymore. When they took our land, they said I had twenty-hours to move the herd. All I could think of was poor Roy lying there dead. I mean, to come through the hell of Andersonville, only to wind up like this.” Cindy sighed. “Anyway, there was no way I could have moved the herd, even if I had tried. There was just simply no way it could be done.”
Dorchester shook his head in sympathy. “That’s too bad. If you could have gotten the herd here, I would have bought your cattle.”
“Mrs. Hilliard, did they give you a piece of paper when they took your land?” Hawke asked.
“Yes. I wasn’t even going to take it, but they said I would need it if I planned to apply for compensation.”
“I’d like to see it, if you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind,” Cindy said. She looked through her handbag, took out the paper, and handed it to Hawke. He looked at it for a moment, thanked her and handed it back.
“Mr. Dorchester, could I speak to you in private for a moment?” Hawke asked.
“Yes, of course,” Dorchester said. Then, to Cindy and Pamela, “Would you ladies excuse us?”
Dorchester and Hawke left the parlor and stood out in the hall, next to one of the suits of armor.
“Were you serious about buying the cattle if she had brought you the herd?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have paid the same price Mr. Hilliard would have gotten at the railhead, but I would have paid a fair price.”
“What if the herd was delivered to you now? Would you still buy it?”
“Well, of course I would,” Dorchester replied. “But how is the herd going to be delivered to me?”
“I’ll bring it to you,” Hawke said.
“What? You mean you would steal the herd?”
Hawke shook his head. “It wouldn’t be stealing,” he said. “The paper they served her said that she had to vacate the land, and she had to leave the fixed property there. But it specifically granted her the right to take all movable property, including her livestock. And there was no time limit.”
“No time limit?”
Hawke shook his head. “It gives the property owner twenty-four hours to vacate the property, but it does not say when the livestock must be moved. Technically, even though the herd is still there, it belongs to her.”
“So you think if you just ride up and ask for the herd, they’ll turn it over to you?”
“I don’t plan to ask for the herd,” Hawke said. “I aim to take it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dorchester said. “That’s far too dangerous. I would hate to think of you getting yourself killed trying to do something for me.”
Hawke smiled. “Then let’s say I’m doing it for Mrs. Hilliard. And I don’t plan on getting myself killed.”