Page 59 of Wyoming Promises

Bridger studied the area. He closed his eyes to recall the exact scene from that night. Lola no longer held suspicion against him, but did his mind hold any small detail to bring justice for the sheriff’s death?

“We picked this spot because there weren’t any signs of animals, but almost anything might’ve changed.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

Bridger stepped away and shoved his hands into his pockets to hide their shake. He glued his focus to the spot where the sheriff had lain. “My horse and I.”

A low chuckle rumbled in the man’s chest. “You’re in the habit of consulting your mount on such matters?”

Bridger shrugged, hoping to loosen the rigid muscles across his shoulders and appear relaxed. “You know how it is, Marshal. A man wanders these mountains, it gets terrible lonesome sometimes. You saying you ain’t never found yourself in a conversation with that gelding you ride?”

The man conceded the point with a smile, but his eyes gave nothing away. “Call me Jake, Bridger. If you’re going to point out a man’s foolishness, you might as well do it on a first-name basis.”

Bridger rubbed a hand along his scar and released a tight breath. He’d have Frank in jail alongside him if he weren’t more careful.

“I need you to show me how you found Sheriff McKenna,” Jake said, tucking his notebook away and falling to his knees by the rock. “Exactly how did he lie?”

The marshal leaned his shoulder into the damp ground, head against the guilty rock like a pillow, with his face toward the dirt trail. “Like this?”

“No, more on his back.” Bridger directed him with a twist of the hand. “That rock was more to the side of his neck.”

Jake jerked his broad shoulders around and dug into the spot where the earth came up around the boulder. Then he laid his head down and sprawled toward the upward side of the mountain, boots pointed toward its peak. “More like this?”

“Better. His head crooked to the side, made me realize his neck was likely broken.” He directed Jake’s head with a nudge from the toe of his boot.

“What about his arms and legs?” Jake lifted the limbs in question.

Bridger chewed his lip. He’d paid less attention to that once he knew the man was dead. What did it matter now? “He kind of lay toward his right shoulder, with his left arm more to the side. His legs pointed down the trail, the right bent a bit under the left.”

Jake moved into position. “Like this?” he asked, taking off his hat.

Bridger glanced over the scene. The marshal was a fair sight longer than the sheriff, but... “I believe so.”

Jake froze in place, his eyes closed and breath held. He looked dead himself. Then his eyes snapped open, facing up the mountain. Not one muscle moved out of place. A moment later he asked, “Any marks on him?”

“Cuts and bruises.”

“Bruises? Do you remember where, exactly?” Jake’s lips moved, but otherwise he remained still.

“He had a good-sized mark on his left cheek, near the eye, and another on the opposite side of his jaw. Otherwise, some scratches.” Bridger wondered why the marshal hadn’t talked with Lola. Surely she would have more information than he knew.

Jake rolled to his knees, scrabbling up the hill a ways before gaining his feet. “What about his hands?”

“What about them?”

Jake continued upward, only his outline visible in the diluted light from the drizzly sky above. “No marks on them, bruises?”

Bridger looked back at the spot where he’d found the sheriff, trying to see the details again in his mind. “I can’t rightly say that I noticed, I’m afraid.”

Jake nodded from his stance about twenty yards away. “You and your horse ever decide to cut through this way?”

“The trail winds around a far piece above where you’re standing, and it’s steeper than the section you just climbed. Do you think he fell up there and rolled down?” It didn’t seem likely, but then, he hadn’t ever considered a man’s death much before.

Jake skidded toward him with long, awkward strides, trying to keep his footing. “What do you think?”

“I think if he had, he’d have run into some trees long before here.” Bridger adjusted his hat for a clear view of the marshal’s expression.

Jake met him on the trail but continued to scan his steps. “Where’d you find his horse?”

Realization dawned, but it didn’t brighten his chances. A cold lump thudded in his chest. He coughed. “I didn’t.”

“You suggested a horse threw him but didn’t see a horse?” Jake challenged.