Eliza only barely left town before the horses came riding in. A whole mess of them, ridden by a gang of men who had joined together to hide from justice, and who were known only by the name bestowed on them by a terrified populace: The Biddle Brothers.
Bullets were fired off wildly, hitting doors, windows, and walls and bouncing off in the dirt. Several outlaws leaped from their mounts and began kicking in doors, hauling out the people inside, and grabbing armfuls of whatever wasn't tied down.
Carver did not have a sheriff as there wasn't the money to afford one. The only law was a small posse of men led by the mayor, who looked rather timid as he awkwardly tried to load his pistol. The head outlaw, who simply called himself Biddle, calmly walked forth with five men behind him, all carrying polished carbines and repeaters. Even the idiot drunk who had been hastily drafted into the posse knew they were outgunned. Nevertheless, the mayor puffed his chest and held up his weapon in a show of defiance.
"You gentlemen are in violation of the law. You will surrender your weapons and return what you've stolen, or you will be disarmed. You will-"
Biddle gave a nod and one of the outlaws shot the mayor's bowler hat off his head before he could finish. He dropped his gun so haphazardly that it went off and hit the man standing behind him in the leg. The outlaws pointed their barrels and the posse members tossed theirs, picked up their wounded friend, and carried him into Elliot Pennygrove's medical office. Biddle drew his Schofield and walked up to the mayor, sticking it right in his mouth. He gave a hand signal, and the outlaws gathered their loot, putting a number of captives on the backs of their horses, and firing a few more shots so no one felt the urge to go after them.
Once the gang was ready, Biddle gave the mayor a good solid punch in the chest. The 76-year old man fell over in pain, gasping for breath as the Biddle Brothers laughed and rode off. The townspeople waited to be sure they weren't lying in wait, and only then left the safety of their homes. The whole thing had been over in less than an hour, but they already knew Carver's days were numbered.
Eliza knew none of this. She was already within eyesight of the church when Carver was raided. Father Thompson was waiting for her. He was a kindly man who had helped her family for many years, whether they needed food, comfort, or advice. He knew what had happened.
Their conversation was brief. The two agreed that the funeral would be small, with no mourners. Eliza did not want her neighbors to know what had become of the man she loved. The truth would ruin her. It would stain her family's name for generations. She promised to have the body delivered within the week, after she had spoken with the undertaker in Carver.
Departing, she felt a weight lift off her chest. America had been a foreign land to her many years ago, when her husband brought her up from Mexico. He had made his fortune and wanted a woman from his home village, and her parents had offered him a lavish bribe to pick their daughter. But he had refused it. For he loved Eliza not because of her beauty, but because she was a tough woman, not afraid of hard work. He warned her that she would be expected to learn his trade and run his farm alongside him, and earn her keep the same as all of his workers.
But she hadn't expected this. That he would leave this world so soon, when their sons were not old enough to take over. The future of the family was now her responsibility. The farm, which was struggling to produce in a land with harsh and unpredictable weather, where thieves and bandits roamed with impunity, where she had already heard stories of whole herds of cattle being stolen in a single night leaving only the bloody burned remains of their owners behind.
Eliza shed a tear. Many more would follow as she drove her wagon back in the direction of Carver.