Chapter 15 – Daylight

Once more the room fell still and silent. Bart watched and waited to see what would happen next – these two lost souls whose very lives hung in the balance, and whose fate was in each other's hands.

"I-I-I-I-I don't know what to say," Bess practically whispered, as she stared at the man that had just admitted to murder, and love. "I never knew."

Trainer watched Bess for a moment and then looked back down. "Of course you didn't. You were too young. And I was a friend of your fathers." He paused, then added, "Until I wasn't."

"You let me . . . . . you let me go on thinking it was Dalton. All these years. Why didn't you tell me?"

Bart finally spoke up. "He couldn't, Bess. He's the sheriff. If he told you, he stood to lose a lot more than just the hope of you ever lovin' him back."

The enormity of what he'd done was finally out in the open, and Pete let out a long breath. "He's right, Bess. I couldn't tell you Dalton was innocent, because then I'd have to tell ya how I knew. I didn't wanna hang for murder. Still don't. Guess there's not much choice in the matter anymore." He slowly unpinned the badge from his shirt and set it on the desk. "I'll tell the mayor to send for a U.S. Marshall. Then they can get a judge and file formal charges. I'm sorry, Bess. I'm sorry for doin' the wrong thing. Ain't nothin' I can say or do to make it right."

Her voice was so soft that Bart wasn't sure he heard her correctly. "Yes, there is."

"What?" The sheriff asked, almost as quietly. "I'll do whatever you want me to."

Bess reached over and picked up the badge, handing it back to Trainer. "Put this back on."

The sheriff stared at her for almost a full minute before taking the badge and doing as she asked. Then he turned his attention to the gambler, still sitting on the other side of the desk. "Anything you wanna say?"

"Me? Nope, not a thing." He looked across the desk at Bess. "You ready to go home?"

She nodded. "Yes, please. The sheriff has work to do, I'm sure." She stood up and walked towards the front of the office, Bart hurrying after her to get the door. They stepped out into the late afternoon sun and he helped her up into the buggy.

"Ready?"

She nodded again. "I am."

The ride back out to the ranch was just as silent as the ride in. Bart had no criticism one way or the other, the decision hadn't been his to make. After all was said and done it seemed reasonable to him; everyone involved had suffered enough. As they pulled up in front of the house, Bess at last asked a question. "Stay for supper?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes, ma'am. Be happy to."

XXXXXXXX

They were quiet through most of supper; it wasn't conversation that Bess needed most right now, it was the company of another human being. Bart was willing to fulfill that need.

After supper they sat in the main room of the house and shared a brandy and coffee. She handed him an envelope with five one-thousand dollar bills in it. "What I owe you. You absolutely earned it."

"Thanks. Thought maybe you'd regret spendin' it."

She shook her head and smiled, a wan, sad little smile. "No. I might have gotten more than I bargained for, but you certainly did what I asked you to do."

"Even if I didn't bring your half-brother back?"

"Especially since you didn't bring my half-brother back. Whatever Dalton's life is like, he deserves to be left in peace. "

"So do you."

The smile got a little brighter. "I am at peace. I know that my brother didn't kill my father. "

"And Pete?"

"Poor Pete. He's punished himself all these years for protecting a child. How could I punish him more?"

"You sure that's all there is to it?" Bart couldn't help asking. The tone of her voice – the look on her face. Were there emotions there she couldn't or wouldn't acknowledge?

She looked at him then, as if reading his mind, and shook her head again. "Yes, that's all there is. I don't love Pete. Care about him, yes. Love him . . . no. No matter why he did what he did, he still killed my father. I just don't want him punished anymore."

Bart finished his coffee and set the cup down. "I should go. It's been a long day."

"Where do you go from here?"

"To Little Bend, to leave my horse at my Uncle's place. Then on to Dallas."

"Coming back this way? You could leave your horse here and catch the stage for Dallas tomorrow."

Bart smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks. We're goin' on to New Orleans from Dallas, don't know how long we'll be gone."

"We?" The woman asked.

"Me an my brother."

"Ah yes, another gambler. I remember."

He got up and walked to the door, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Goodbye, Bess. And good luck." The gambler opened the door and went out into the night, headed for the corral and his large, capricious buckskin gelding.

XXXXXXXX

He rode back into town, right past the sheriff's office. The shades were open, along with the front door, and he could hear yelling coming from inside. "Mr. Ferris, I told you what was gonna happen the next time one a your boys got into mischief. Now what kind of a lawman would I be if I let them get away with it again?"

Bart laughed and shook his head. Some things never changed.

XXXXXXXX

The next morning he got up and packed, had breakfast and went to the telegraph office. He sent the first wire to Bret in Willow Springs, giving his date of arrival. He sent the second to Helene Plessis, and it read:

Rest easy.

Dalton Dupree did not murder his father.

I have proof.

Bart Maverick

He had nothing to gain by sending the telegram, but was pleased to know that it might afford the woman some peace of mind. And it was the absolute truth. As for George Henry, God only knew where he was, or even if he was alive or dead. Somebody would catch up with the gunslinger someday, but it probably wouldn't be him. That was all well and good, as far as he was concerned. One encounter with the man was more than enough.

As he rode out of Delmont and north towards Little Bend, midnight crossed his mind once more. No more standing in the dark, wondering how he'd gotten to such a place in his life. From now on he was gonna leave that particular habit to the real bottom-feeders of the world. He had better things to do with his time.