I moved the last section of chapter 32 to this chapter and rewrote some of it. Since it is a continuation of the trip back from Denver it seemed to flow better.

I check the clock on the dashboard. It's 9:03. It feels much earlier than that. I can't tell you how long the sun has been up but the drive back north from Denver towards home always seems longer than the trip down. It has been a long night but I don't really feel like stopping to rest. My passenger however has succumbed to sleep. I guess he wore himself out trying to talk me into not suspecting him of being the mastermind behind my wife's death.

Taking Nighthorse to Denver has allowed my thoughts of killing him to subside somewhat. I think about the question he asked me. Who hates me enough to kill my wife? It's not like I haven't been down this road before. That's the whole reason I have all those rap sheets taped to my office wall. It's why I visited Chance Gilbert and those other criminals, because I knew they were capable of something like this. It's just like I told Barlow about Branch being shot, that maybe someone was trying to get to him though his son. It's still a possibility someone was trying to get to me through Martha, but who? My mind wanders as I watch the mile markers go by.

Barlow, now there's someone who's made his hatred of me perfectly clear. I suspect he was the one pushing Branch's campaign for Sheriff forward, more in an effort to put me out of a job than from a desire for his son to succeed. I have always felt badly for Branch having to grow up in his father's shadow. Barlow was less than pleased when I hired Branch as a deputy but I always figured it was because he just didn't like me. Since then, I have seen first hand how controlling Barlow tries to be with his son. When I hired Branch I agreed with him that he should make his own way if he wanted to. I admired that he didn't want to slide by on his father's work, reputation or money. Barlow is a pompous ass, that's for sure, and we have a history, but surely he couldn't have anything to do with all of this.

I glance over at Jacob. No. It can't be Barlow. It has to be Nighthorse. Jacob's just playing me, trying to save his own skin. Still, he has put some doubt in my mind that he acted alone. Maybe I shouldn't be so hasty to dismiss his assertion that there is something more behind Martha's murder than just the casino. At least I have some drive time ahead of me to try to figure it out.

We are less than an hour from Durant when I hear Jacob stirring, "Have you decided what you're going to do with me yet?"

I had hoped he would sleep all the way back, "I was going to take you up into the Bighorns and make sure you didn't ever come back down again."

"Oh...you said was."

"Yep."

"And now?"

I sigh in spite of myself, "I'm not sure."

He must have decided it's better for him to keep his mouth shut at this point because he doesn't respond. I appreciate his silence. I can think better when it's quiet. I find myself once again in unfamiliar territory: unsure as to the best course of action. When I left my cabin after scattering Martha's ashes I knew I was going to kill Nighthorse. I hadn't been given my right to kill Miller Beck and while there was some relief in killing Ridges, he was still just a mercenary hired to do a job. I'm sure it wasn't his idea to have my wife killed. Nighthorse had to have told him to do it. So why am I now hesitating when just yesterday I was so sure?

My gut instinct is holding me back. Deep down I feel like I'm missing something, a vital piece of the puzzle. Will my thirst for revenge be quenched if I carry out a sentence of execution but still leave questions unanswered? Do I have the whole story and will I get it if I kill Nighthorse now? Whatever happens, I have to make sure it is the end. I cannot do this anymore. I can't go on with there still being uncertainty about why Martha was taken. I can't continue to destroy those I love with my bitterness and anger. Cady and Henry deserve better than that. I keep hearing Martha's plea to be careful. I need to be careful not just for myself but for those important to me. Be careful...This time the voice is Vic's. The blurring of the two women in my mind is confusing me. I need to be careful in more ways than one.

"I'll try."

"What?"

I look over at my passenger, "Nothing." My mind is made up.

No one is at the station when I arrive. It's rare that Ruby is gone during the day and I'm concerned as to why she isn't here. I inform Nighthorse that he will be charged with conspiracy to commit murder as well as aiding and abetting. I allow him to call his attorney before locking him in the cell. He's strangely quiet. Maybe he's relieved he's still alive. While this is not what I had planned for Nighthorse when I headed out to his house yesterday I know it's the right thing to do. I cannot keep hurting the people I love with my actions. At some point, they have to become more important to me than myself and they need to become more important than the person who is gone. I cannot keep holding onto a memory and ignoring the present reality. It's a bitter pill to swallow but I do it.

There are no post-its for me, so I pick up the phone and dial Ruby's cell number, It goes straight to voicemail. I hang up without leaving a message. I notice the blinking light that indicates there's a voicemail message on the office line. I pick the phone back up to access the system. The computerized voice tells me there are three new messages and they start to play automatically:

"Hey Ruby, this is Sheriff Wilkins. Sorry to bother you but your prisoner is demanding to talk to someone from Absaroka to find out what he's being charged with. Can someone give me a call when you get a chance. I just want to get him to shut up. He's driving my dispatcher crazy."

Why does Cumberland County have one of our prisoners? I wait for the next message:

"This is Carl Jenkins, Mr. Connally's attorney. It's imperative Sheriff Longmire call my office as soon as possible. The number is 555-6947."

Mr. Connally's attorney? Must be in regard to Branch's suspension.

The third message begins:

"Ruby, its Dorothy. I wanted to call and see if there was any news on how Vic is doing. Cady stopped by on her way home from the hospital this morning to pick up something to eat and filled me in while she was here. Poor girl looked exhausted. Anyway, call when you get a minute. Thanks!"

I hang up and try to process what I've just heard while my body reacts the same way it did when I first suspected Vic had been abducted. I pick up the phone once more, this time to call Cady.