“Peter is free, mother!” exclaimed Dawn. “He didn’t shoot Mallette! Don’t you understand? He’s free!”
“Pretty damn good, eh?” The Indian woman smiled.
“Will you shake hands with me?” asked Moran, holding out his hand to Mrs. Conley.
She looked closely at him for a moment.
“Your name Moran. You want to shake hands? You crazy?”
“No, I’m not crazy. I want to be a friend.”
“Damn funny.”
She shook hands with him wonderingly, and they all went into the house. Dawn ran to her father, telling him the good news. Conley patted her on the head and stared at Franklyn Moran, his sunken eyes wide with wonder.
“Conley,” said Moran, coming in close to the bed, “I came to see if we can’t be friends. It seems that our kids have decided to marry each other, and I think it’s time for us to bury the hatchet. Everything else has been straightened out. The 7AL were the ones that caused the trouble. They tried to start war between us. They killed my cattle on your land, and they tried to kill you. Hartley run ’em down. Cutter is dead and the rest of his gang are in jail. Ryker is dead; he was a leader in their crooked work. Will you shake hands with me?”
The old man held out a shaking hand.