Under A Prairie Moon by Madeline Baker Page A

flickered over his lips. “Burkhart was making all kinds of threats, but he was all wind. As soon as he heard I was on Conley’s payroll, the fight was over.”
    Kathy cocked her head at him. “That’s all it took? Just the mention of your name?”
    Dalton nodded. “Pretty impressive, huh?”
    “You killed one of Burkhart’s men though, didn’t you?”
    “Yeah, but it didn’t have anything to do with the fight between Conley and Burkhart. It was just between him and me.”
    “How come I never heard of you?”
    “Too many other fast guns running around, I reckon. Buntline was making Hickock and Cody famous. I wasn’t looking for that kind of attention.” He gestured at her yellow legal pad and grinned. “’Course, it doesn’t matter now. You can make me as famous as you want.”
    Kathy grimaced. “Shoot, I’m no writer. I doubt if anyone will want to buy it even if I can figure out how to turn it into a coherent story.”
    “Well, if you ever get the thing published, you’ll have to read it to me.”
    “Don’t you want to learn to read?”
    “What for? Doesn’t seem any point in it now.”
    “Well, reading might help pass the time. I have a lot of books out in the barn.”
    He shook his head. “Time isn’t the same for me as it is for you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Before you came here, I wasn’t really aware of time passing. I don’t know how to explain it.”
    “Well, try.”
    He frowned. “It was sort of like sleeping, I guess. I’d drift off. Sometimes I’d hear voices and there’d be people here at the house and I’d come up and take a look around.” He shrugged. “When they left, I just went back to…drifting.”
    “That’s too weird,” Kathy said. She stood up, stretching her back and shoulders, trying to imagine what it would be like to be caught between this world and the next. “I need a break.”
    “It’s gonna rain tonight.”
    Kathy glanced out the window. The sky was clear and blue.
    “I don’t think so.”
    Dalton nodded. “I can smell it in the air.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    He winked at her. “You’ll see.” He rose from the chair with effortless grace. “You gonna rebuild the barn?”
    “I guess so, why?”
    “Thought maybe you’d buy a couple of horses.”
    “Horses?”
    He nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “I had a right fine buckskin mare. I sure miss her.” He slid his right hand down his thigh. “And my hardware.”
    Kathy shook her head. He hadn’t mentioned missing any people, but he missed his horse. And his gun.
    “I could rebuild the barn for you,” he said suddenly.
    “You?”
    “Why not? I’ve got nothing else to do.”
    “I don’t know. I never thought about getting a horse. I’ve never even been on one.”
    “No? Shit, I could ride before I could walk.”
    “Well,” she said dubiously. “We’ll see.”
    * * * * *
    Later, after dinner, she hauled her computer into the house and set it up. It took a while, but eventually she found Dalton’s name on a web site that listed little known Western historical facts.
    Crowkiller, Dalton (1844–1873). Born in Dakota Territory, Crowkiller gained notoriety when he killed Hager Whittaker in a gunfight in Virginia City.
    Crowkiller is believed to have gunned down more than two dozen men in cold blood in his short career as a hired gun. He was hanged in Montana July 28, 1873 for raping the wife of Russell Wayne Conley, a prominent rancher. Conley’s wife, the former Lydia Camille Winston, later went insane from her ordeal at Crowkiller’s hands.
    “What does it say about me?”
    “How do you know it’s about you?”
    “I may not be able to read much, but I recognize my name when I see it.”
    She read the entry to him, felt her ears burn at the volatile oaths that flew from his lips.
    “Two dozen men! Where the hell did they come up with that?”
    “I don’t know,” she replied. “Literary license, I suppose.”
    “Damn liars. Two dozen men in cold blood. I never shot