Epilogue
James never asked the questions that lingered in his eyes that day, but I harbored no illusions my companion had not figured out what happened up on Trickling Water. After all, I had walked home hauling a saddle and tack gear, and there was no sign of Whisper. I regretted the loss of the gallant little mustang.
None of us reported Smith’s death, and it took the militia the better part of a week to blunder upon the scene of the “duel,” as magistrate Gadsby called it. He loudly proclaimed the captain a hero who met a violent end pursuing and eliminating the murderous heathens who had terrorized the area for years. Acquaintances told James few of the citizens of Yanube City paid any attention to this puffery.
So far as I knew, no one questioned the story of the captain and the
