CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The bodies lay black and bloated on the freezing hard ground. Whit, despite being used to seeing dead bodies, turned away and vomited. Roose stood in silence, staring, and Cole, flipping open the lid of the cashbox with his boot, let out a long sigh. “These coyotes belong in the ground, Sterling.”
Roose’s gaze settled on the woman. Dressed in richly embroidered clothes, her bonnet still delicately positioned on top of her curly, auburn hair, in life she had been remarkably handsome. “I reckon you’re right, Cole.”
Cole checked the ground, studying the tracks. “They made off quickly, which don’t surprise me none. No doubt we’ll find the place where they argued and from where that Mexican ran from.”
“We ain’t got time for that,” said Whit, taking a long drink from his c
