Shadow of the Hangman Read Online Free Page A

back your husband’s horse.”
    â€œThank you,” the woman said. “Thank you kindly.”
    Mrs. Harris was not pretty and had never been pretty. She was thin, slack-breasted, and barefoot. Dust had settled between her toes, and the bottom of her threadbare calico dress was much stained and frayed. Two silent children, a boy and a girl, joined her at the door. The girl, dark circles under her huge brown eyes, looked to be about ten, the boy a year or two younger and frail.
    â€œIs there anything I can do for you, ma’am?” Samuel said.
    The woman shook her head. “No, there’s nothing you can do for me.”
    â€œMay I escort you to your husband’s funeral?”
    â€œNo, I don’t want to see Arch go under the ground,” Mrs. Harris said. “What words could I add to the ones that have already been said between him and me and those I’ve said to our God?”
    â€œDid he abuse you, ma’am?” Samuel said.
    â€œNo, he was a good enough husband when he stayed away from whiskey and fancy women.” She met Samuel’s eyes. “He brought home a whore’s disease that will kill me sooner or later. But before I die, I want to see my children settled.”
    The afternoon was hot, oppressive, and Samuel O’Brien felt penned up, as though the day was crowding him close, refusing to let him move. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped from under his hat brim and stung his eyes.
    Now he tried hard to do the right thing.
    â€œMrs. Harris,” he said, “you and your children would be welcome at my ranch. There’s always plenty of work to be done around Dromore, and you’d have a steady wage and a place to live.”
    â€œYou’re one of them O’Brien boys, aren’t you?” the woman said. She had faded gray eyes, the color of wood smoke.
    Samuel touched his hat and smiled. “Yes indeed, ma’am. My name’s Samuel, or Sam if you like.”
    The woman nodded. “That’s a very kind offer, Mr. O’Brien, but we can fend for ourselves.”
    â€œBut how will you live?”
    â€œWe’ll get by.”
    Samuel felt a twinge of desperation. “You’d be happy at Dromore, Mrs. Harris, and we can bring in a doctor to treat your”—he searched for a kinder word than disease—“misery.”
    The woman was silent for long moments, then she said, “The day is hot, Mr. O’Brien. I must get the children inside.”
    Defeat weighing on him, Samuel said, “Mrs. Harris, about your husband . . . I’m sorry.”
    â€œOne way or another, we’re all sorry, Mr. O’Brien. Some of us are even sorry that we were ever born.” She turned and pushed the kids inside, and the door closed behind her.
    Samuel sat his horse, feeling drained and lethargic in the heat. Finally, he swung away from the shack and headed west toward Dromore. He felt he’d lost something, a part of himself that he’d never regain. But as to what it was, he had no idea.

Chapter Four
    Samuel O’Brien rode up to the big house at Dromore under a flaming sky that roofed the timbered high country with bands of scarlet and jade. The heat of the day was over and the dust had settled, leaving clean air that smelled of pine resin and the wildflowers night-blooming among pinnacles of mountain rock.
    When Samuel swung out of the saddle, a Mexican boy ran to take his horse. “Is Señor Jacob here?” he said to the kid.
    The boy shook his head. “No, patron. He did not come, I think.”
    Disappointed, Samuel nodded and stepped inside. The butler met him in the foyer and told him that his wife and son were in the study with the colonel.
    â€œJacob didn’t arrive?” Samuel said, hoping that the boy could’ve been mistaken.
    â€œNo, sir,” the butler said. “Dromore has had no visitors today.”
    When Samuel walked into the study his wife ran to meet