CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Easing open the shuttered window, Morrison peered out into the street. Roused by the sound of approaching horses, he’d glanced across to Bessy, who had fallen asleep. He delayed waking her. But now, with riders coming down the main street, he called to her. She jerked herself upright, blinking.
“I think it’s the sheriff and that other fella, the newcomer.”
“They have found Destry?”
She was rushing forward before Morrison managed to say, “I think so, but it’s getting dark, and I can’t—”
“Let me see,” she said impatiently, pushing the bank teller aside. “I can’t … Yes, by golly, there he is!”
She was tearing at the bolt and throwing back the door bar as Morrison shrugged himself into his topcoat, knowing it would be cold outside.
Bessy ran across the street toward
