Julie Garwood - Come the Spring

open, and marched inside shouting her husband's name. Emmeline meekly

followed.

Their blood-curdling screams were heard as far away as the cemetery,

and folks came running to find out what was happening. Those who saw

the grizzly tableau inside the lobby, before Sheriff Sloan could get

there and seal the doors, would never be the same. John Cletchem, the

photographer the sheriff summoned to take pictures for posterity,

became so sick at the eerie sight, that he had to keep running outside

to throw up in the street. Two of the victims, Franklin Carroll and

Malcolm Watterson, had been shot simultaneously and had fallen into

each other.

They were both still on their knees and appeared to be embracing, with

their heads drooping over each other's shoulder.

Daniel Ryan had a near riot on his hands when he rode into town at five

minutes past one the following afternoon. Because of a torrential

downpour, the journey had taken longer than expected. Sheriff Sloan

met him in front of the bank, gave him the details, and then unlocked

the door and followed him inside.

The bodies hadn't been removed from the lobby. If Ryan was sickened by

the sight before him, he didn't show it. He slowly walked around the

scene and stared down at the dead from every possible angle. There was

only one telltale sign that he was affected. His hands were in fists

at his sides.

In a strangled whisper, Sloan said, "I didn't know if I should let the

bodies be taken out or leave them alone for you to see. Did I do the

right thing? " Before Ryan could answer him, the sheriff continued.

"There was another body found in the alley next to the bank. His name

was Billie, and he was the town drunk. They used a knife on him, and

before I could tell the funeral men to leave him be, they carted him

off and put him in the ground. I had pictures taken of these poor men,

but Billie was already gone, so I didn't get any pictures of him. "

The stench was getting to him. Sloan held a handkerchief over his

mouth and nose to block the smell. He couldn't make himself look at

his friends, but stared at the ceiling instead. "I don't want the

families of these men to see . . . " Sloan couldn't go on. He gagged,

spun around, and clawed at the doorknob. Ryan had to turn it for

him.

The sheriff ran outside, doubled over in front of the crowd that had

gathered, and threw up in the street.

Returning to his inspection, Ryan squatted down next to one of the

bodies to get a closer look at a bullet he'd spotted half buried in the

floorboard. He could still hear Sloan's retching outside when the door

opened again, letting in another blessed whiff of fresh air. Cole came

striding inside. Ryan turned to him and waited for a reaction.

Cole wasn't prepared for what he saw. As though he'd just run headlong

into a stone wall, he staggered back and whispered, "Ah . . . Lord. "

"Are you going to run, or are you going to stay? " Ryan demanded.

Cole didn't answer. Ryan's eyes were blazing with fury now. "Take a

good look, Cole. Any of these men could have been one of your

brothers.

Tell me, how often do they go into a bank? Or your mother? Or your

sister? " he taunted in a voice that lashed out like a whip.

Cole shook his head and continued to stare at the two corpses on their

knees leaning into one another. He couldn't look away.

"Don't you dare tell me this isn't your problem, " Ryan said. "I've

made it your problem by getting you appointed marshal.

YO Like it or not, you aren't walking away from this. You're going to

help me catch the bastards." Cole didn't say a word. He was fighting

the urge to join the sheriff outside, yet at the same time he could eel

his anger fueling to a rage.

No one should have to die like this. No one.

He wouldn't allow himself to be sick. If he turned his back on these

men and ran outside, he would be committing a blasphemy. He couldn't

reason his reaction. He just knew it would be wrong for him to be

repulsed by them.

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then slowly moved away

from the door and walked around the circle of dead. Ryan watched him

closely.

Another minute passed in silence, and then Cole said, "I don't know how

many of them were in here, but I'm pretty sure several men did the

shooting."

"How do you figure that? " Ryan asked.

"Powder burns and the angle of the bullets." He pointed to two of the

bodies and whispered, "The bullet came through the back of this man's

head, went out through his forehead and into the neck of the man facing

him. The same thing happened with those two. They were playing a

game, " he added. "Trying to kill two with one bullet. You already

figured that out, didn't you? " Ryan nodded. "Yes."

"The robbery was yesterday. Why v. ^eren't these bodies buried? "

"The sheriff thought he should leave them here for us to see. I have a

feeling he hasn't been a lawman long." Cole shook his head again.

"There's a funeral cart outside. These people need to be buried."

"Then order it done, " Ryan challenged.

Cole turned to go outside, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

"Whenever I'm away from the ranch, I work alone."

"You don't work alone any longer."

"I should warn you. I do things different . . .

Some of it won't be legal."

"I figured as much, " Ryan replied.

He followed Cole outside and stood by him on the boardwalk while Cole

ordered the crowd to back away so the funeral cart could be pulled

closer. The body collector, a moonfaced man with hunched shoulders,

stepped forward. Cole told him that he wanted the bodies covered with

sheets before they were carried out.

The reporter for the Rockford Falls newspaper objected to the order.

"We want to see them, " he shouted. "Why do they have to be covered

with sheets? " Cole wanted to punch the ghoulish curiosity seeker.

With effort, he resisted the impulse and said, "They wouldn't want to

be remembered this way." The reporter wouldn't let up. "They're dead,

" he shouted. "How do you know what they want? " A woman in the crowd

started crying. Cole looked at Ryan, waiting for him to answer, but

the marshal ignored him and kept his gaze directed on the men and women

in the street.

"Yes, they're dead, " Cole shouted back. "And now the law becomes

their voice. Get the damned sheets." Ryan nodded his agreement. He

pulled the compass out of his pocket and handed it to Cole. "You just

became a lawman." at took over an hour to remove the six bodies.

Because of the heat, rigor mortis had set in rapidly, and the owner of

the funeral parlor had a hell of a time getting the two men who had

died on their knees wrapped up and carried out.

The men who were assisting him whispered while they worked. Cole

wasn't certain if they kept their voices low out of respect for the

dead or if they were just plain spooked, but one of them started

gagging and had to run outside when the funeral director worried out

loud that if the families wanted to bury the men that day, he would

have to either build two special coffins to accommodate the bent knees,

or cut off their legs. One day's delay would ensure that the

troublesome rigor mortis would have worn off. And if he sealed the

coffins tight, no one would notice the smell.

The floor near the center of the lobby where the bodies had knelt was

black. Blood had seeped into the dry wood, and it was there to stay.