Shawn O'Brien Manslaughter Read Online Free

puncher or an outlaw. At times in his life, that man did work and lifted loads that were way too heavy for him.”
    â€œHell, what’s that?” Sedley said.
    He swung out of the saddle and stepped to the cross. “Damn, he stinks,” he said.
    â€œWhat did you see?” Shawn said.
    â€œOnly this.” Sedley gingerly held a cardboard sign by a corner.
    He carried the sign back and laid it on the ground. “There’s a lot of blood on it and I can only see some of the letters,” he said.
    Shawn dismounted and pushed the sign with the toe of his boot and read: ST AW OR IS WIL PEN O OU.
    He studied the letters for a while, then looked at Sedley. “What the hell does it say you reckon?” he said.
    Sedley studied the letters for a moment, then said, “ STHAW . . . STRAW FOR . . . hell, I don’t know what it says.”
    â€œIt reads, STAY AWAY OR THIS WILL HAPPEN TO YOU,” Shawn said. He scouted the ground around the base of the cross. “No tracks.”
    â€œSummer rains, I guess,” Sedley said.
    â€œBecker?” Shawn said.
    Sedley thought about that. “It could be him, but I doubt it.”
    â€œMe too. This killing is evil. It has no style,” Shawn said. “Becker has style of a sort and he’s a shooter, not a”—he waved a hand in the direction of the dead man—“whatever it is you call a man who kills like that.”
    â€œA lunatic? Madman?”
    â€œSeems like,” Shawn said. Then, “There’s plenty of loose rock and shale around. We could take him down and bury him.”
    â€œNo, we couldn’t,” Sedley said, horrified. “Hell, the body is rotten. Once we got him free of the nails we’d have to bury him a finger and toe at a time, and I’m not ready for that.”
    Shawn remounted, measured the distance between him and the cross, and grabbed his rope. He shook out a loop, tossed it over the T-beam, and jerked it tight.
    He took a couple of turns around the saddle horn, then backed the buckskin. The rope shivered straight as the big horse took the strain, and after what seemed an eternity the cross finally pulled free and toppled over. The dead man landed facedown on the grass.
    â€œNow we can bury him,” Shawn said.
    â€œThere?” Sedley said.
    â€œYes, there. Right where he lies.”
    â€œShawn, there ain’t enough damned rock in the territory to bury that,” Sedley said. The skin covering his cheekbones, bronzed from unaccustomed sun, was taut, like a man ready to set spurs to his horse and make a run for it.
    â€œThere’s plenty of rock,” Shawn said. “It’s just a matter of finding it.”
    â€œHell, my hands.”
    â€œDon’t worry about your hands, Hamp. I have a feeling you won’t be shuffling cards again anytime soon.”
    Sedley glanced at the dead man, then said, “Two feet of rock ought to do it.”
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    â€œI don’t know who he was, but a pile of rocks isn’t much to show for a life,” Hamp Sedley said.
    Shawn O’Brien crossed himself, then said, “Well, whoever he was may he rest in peace.”
    â€œThen that’s it,” Sedley said. Then, as though a thought had just struck him, “Are you in good with God, Shawn?”
    â€œMaybe. I don’t really know.”
    â€œHad an old gambler die in my arms one time. Feller by the name of Patrick Murphy. He got shot across a card table in Fort Smith by Long Fingers Dawson. You heard of him?”
    â€œNo, I haven’t,” Shawn said. “And I’m not catching your drift, either.”
    â€œI’m circling up on it. Just be patient. Well, Pat Murphy was a mick, just like you, an’ before he croaked he said, ‘Humphrey—’”
    â€œHumphrey?” Shawn said.
    â€œYeah, that’s why I call myself Hamp. Anyways, he says, ‘I’m a goner so mind an’ say a prayer for