The Sullivan Sisters and the Sin of Letty Grant: A Sullivan Sisters' Tale

Thistle Creek, Colorado

March 1875

The sun was barely rising over Thistle Creek when Fran O’Connell heard fast footsteps coming up the boardwalk towards her. She turned swiftly, and Izzy de Laurent, her partner, put her hand on her pistol. The two relaxed as they recognized the figure.

“Miss Sue,” Fran said. “What’s the matter?”

Madame Sue Soderburg stopped, her face drawn, a cigarette burning in between her fingers despite the early hour.

“They’re framing me for Roberta’s murder.”

“Who is?” Fran asked.

“Tate O'Neill’s gang. I’m pretty sure Chicken had a hand in it. And they’re doing their best to make it look like I did it.”

Fran looked at Izzy, who signed, “Chicken hasn’t been seen in weeks.”

Fran nodded.

“What did she say?” Sue asked.

Fran explained, then asked, “Has Sheriff Callahan actually said you're a suspect?”

“He doesn’t need to. I know I am.” She took a slow drag on the cigarette and looked across the dusty street to his dark office.

Fran had never seen Miss Sue so rattled. Izzy laid a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“We’re going to go out and look for Chicken. And Tate. We’ll get this cleared up, Miss Sue,” Fran said.

Her concerned expression softened. “All right, thank you, girls.”

Fran gave a brief nod as Madame Sue reentered her brothel.

As Fran and Izzy walked back to their home, a converted old mercantile once owned by Fran’s uncle, Izzy shared her concerns.

“I know,” Fran said. “I’m worried too. People have been trying to get rid of Madame Sue for a while. But it doesn’t make sense that Tate’s gang would do this.”

Izzy signed again.

“Mrs. Pritchett?” Fran asked. “That’s what I thought, too. Ever since she followed that preacher from Missouri, she’s brought nothing but trouble for Sue—and more business.”

Izzy grinned and signed again.

Fran chuckled. “True. Folks do love fuss and scandal.” A look of concern crossed her face again as she sat at the table, waiting for the coffee to brew.

Izzy looked out the window toward Madame Sue’s as a cowboy walked in and disappeared behind the shadowy door.

“Poor Roberta,” she signed as she sat beside Fran.

“I know,” Fran said softly, trying not to let the past rear its ugly head.

Roberta Lee’s body had been found behind Madame Sue’s brothel three weeks ago, strangled and left in the dirt. There were no leads, but it was concerning that Miss Sue thought she was a suspect. She was nothing but good to her girls and made sure the patrons were as well.

“Let’s go talk to Sheriff Callahan,” Izzy signed.

Fran nodded. “Let me get some coffee in me first. Then we’ll go.” 

***

“Deputy,” Fran greeted as they walked in.

“Ladies,” Deputy Harland said, tipping his hat.

Fran tipped hers back. She never understood why men could do it without drawing stares, but when she did it, people acted like she’d grown horns. Fortunately, the people of Thistle Creek were used to her quirks by now, and Deputy Harland just stared past her at Izzy.

“Is the sheriff in?” Fran asked.

The deputy called to the back. “Sheriff, Fran and Izzy are here.”

Sheriff Callahan appeared in the doorway with a steaming mug of coffee and a piece of toast.

“Ladies, come on back. I’m guessing I know why you’re here.”

With another nod to Deputy Harland—who looked longingly after Izzy, who ignored him—they followed him to his office. He sat and raised a hand.

“Before you say anything, let me be clear. We do not consider Madame Sue a suspect.”

Fran and Izzy exchanged a look.

“You don’t?” Fran asked.

“No. So if she’s telling you that, I don’t know where she’s hearing it.”

Izzy signed that Sue was probably just being paranoid, which Fran kept to herself, signing back,  

“Perhaps.”

“Did you know she thinks Chicken did it?” Fran asked. “From Tate O'Neill’s gang?”

“I do,” the sheriff said. “And frankly, that’s who we’re looking at, too. But no one’s talking. Think maybe you two could help? The girls at Sue’s might talk to you, especially if it means clearing Sue’s name.”

Izzy signed, “Sure,” and Fran agreed.

“Tell us what to do,” Fran said.

 ***

The sheriff explained that from the little information he had gathered, Roberta had been Chicken’s favorite, but she told him she needed to start seeing clients again. He hadn’t liked that.

Fran and Izzy remembered how Tate’s gang had come into money once—never proven, but people suspected a train robbery.

“Easy to keep a woman on stolen money,” Fran muttered.

“Exactly,” Sheriff Callahan said and nodded. “I think he flew into a jealous rage after a visit and killed her, then took off.”

“That’s what we were just talking to Miss Sue about earlier.”

“Oh, she’s already come to you, has she?” He didn’t say it unkindly, but there was tension in his voice.

Izzy signed, “Why wouldn’t she come to us? She took care of us when we were little girls.”

Fran held her hand up before Izzy got too worked up and interpreted.

“We’ve always had a good relationship with Miss Sue. She took care of us when we were little, and Uncle Enoch was in a rage.”

The sheriff’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, I’ve heard the stories. She’s been good to you two. And as long as she doesn’t stir up too much trouble, she and I have an understanding. I’d rather keep that establishment with a local than some new proprietor who would come in if I shut her down.”

 Izzy seemed satisfied, and Fran nodded.

“We’ll help. One more question,” Fran said. “Did anyone see Tate go into Sue’s that night?”

“Not that anyone has said. I think they’re all worried they’ll get in trouble with Tate or Chicken. They’re bound to show back up once the dust settles.”

 “Seems about right. We’ll see what we can rustle up.” She stood, picking up her mug, and the two left.

***

On the boardwalk, Fran got a hunch and said, “Let’s go talk to Roberta’s family first.”

The young girl’s family had come in from the Territory once the next-of-kin had been notified. It had been quite a shock and distress to them, because they hadn’t known where their daughter was. She had disappeared six months earlier, running away from home, and they hadn’t heard from her since.

To come into a situation thinking you’re going to find your daughter, only to discover she was dead… that was not something Fran would want to live through again. She and Izzy had seen Izzy’s parents die during an attack on their journey west.

Fran’s mother was wounded, and her father, distraught, had left the two girls on his brother-in-law’s doorstep in Thistle Creek, lying that the two were sisters to ensure they’d stay together. Then he’d taken his wife to a cottonwood copse at the edge of town, where he'd waited for her to die, then took his own life.

Fran had never forgiven him, nor her cruel uncle, Enoch Sullivan. Izzy had gone mute, and only Fran could understand her, as they had created their own sign language. They’d done their best to bury the past, to live some semblance of a normal life.

The clerk showed them up to the Lee’s rooms, and Fran knocked on the hotel door.

She and Izzy entered, and the clerk escorted them up to the room where the family was staying. A small woman answered—her eyes puffy, her face drawn with pain.

“Have you found anything else about Roberta?” she asked, her voice brittle.

“Ma’am, if we could come in, we’d like to ask you a few questions—if that would be alright.”

She moved aside and opened the door.

Her husband, their daughter, and son all looked up from where they sat at a table. Izzy signed to Fran, and Fran asked, “Is this a good time?”

The whole family looked as if they were caught in the thick of fresh grief. Izzy, the more sensitive of the two, was making sure they wouldn’t cause more distress.

“It’s fine,” the woman said. “We just need to find who did this to Berta.”

The daughter gave a small sob and buried her face in her hands.

Fran shifted uncomfortably. Izzy wanted to go over and comfort the girl but stood where she was.

“Don’t cry, Nellie,” the girl’s brother said, patting her shoulder, which only made her cry harder.

“She’ll never come home, Orin. Don’t you understand?”

“She’s gone. Berta’s gone,” he muttered, and his own eyes started to water.

“Maybe we should come back,” Izzy signed.

“Would you like us to come back?” Fran asked gently.

“No, no,” their father said. “Let’s get this over with. What do you want to know?”

“I know this is a very sensitive subject… because of what your daughter was doing here.”

That made the parents look grief-stricken and cornered. Still, Fran pressed, gently.

“Can you think of anyone back home who might’ve wanted to hurt Roberta—someone who might’ve found out where she was?”

“No,” her mother said. “Everyone adored Roberta. That’s why the whole village was so distraught when she ran away. And now… they’ll be even more distraught, knowing she’s gone.”

She hiccupped a sob and sat on the bed, crying with her daughter.

Izzy signed again that they should leave, but Fran shook her head. She had a hunch.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lee, could we speak with your daughter alone?” Fran asked.

The girl looked up at her in alarm, her crying slowing down.

“I want you to know—my sister and I,” Fran said, motioning to Izzy, “though we’re not sisters by blood, we share everything. I think you and Roberta did too.”

Her father looked at his daughter with suspicion but eventually nodded. “Yes. We’ll go down to the dining hall. Try to eat something.”

Still weeping, Mrs. Lee allowed herself to be led out. Orin followed, shoulders sloping.

Izzy took the seat across from the girl. The girl looked up as Izzy signed something to Fran.

“You don’t talk?” she asked bluntly.

“No, she doesn’t,” Fran replied. “Lost her voice when our parents died. They were shot in front of us coming out West.”

The girl looked like that might tip her over the edge. Izzy shot a glare at Fran and placed a comforting hand on the girl’s arm.

Fran was chagrined and softened her voice.

“Nellie, did you know your sister had run away—and where she’d gone?”

The girl looked to Izzy, who gave her a gentle smile.

“I… I don’t want to say. I’ll get in trouble. I don’t know…”

“You won’t get in trouble if it helps us find your sister’s killer.”

“Did she ever write you any letters once she’d come out here?” Fran asked.

The girl looked away, then finally whispered, “Yes.”

“Do you happen to have those letters?” Fran asked. “They might give us a clue.”

The girl pointed at her bag. “They’re in there.”

Fran passed her the bag. She pulled out three letters.

“Can we take these for a while?” Fran asked.

 The girl nodded.

 “Is there anyone at home you think could’ve done this?” Fran pressed.

 “Maybe Silas.”

 “Who’s Silas?”

 The girl looked again at Izzy, who nodded encouragingly and signed for Fran to tell her it was all right.

Fran translated. The girl took a breath.

“Silas was a widower who was sweet on Berta. But she didn’t want to be tied down to a farmer, so she ran. I found him one day—reading a letter she sent me. Said he was looking for me. Mama had just let him go into my room. I grabbed the letter back and Papa threw him out.”

“Did that letter say where she was?”

The girl fumbled through the stack. “This one—yes. This was the first. This was the second, and it’s in this one… she finally told me where she was and what she was doing.”

Fran and Izzy looked over the letter. It did say Roberta was working at Madam Sue’s—and not to tell their parents.

 “Did Silas ever get violent?”

 “Yes,” the girl said. “Sometimes Berta would show me bruises on her arms… from him.”

 Fran and Izzy exchanged a look. Izzy’s eyes gleamed with fire.

“Thank you, Nellie. This has been helpful.

“Please don’t tell my parents,” the girl gasped. She sat upright, the tears gone, real fear replacing them. “Mama and Daddy would be mad I didn’t tell them.”

“We’ll try to keep it between us as long as we can,” Fran said gently. “But if Silas becomes a suspect, we might have to tell them.”

The girl looked petrified. Izzy put a comforting arm around her shoulders and signed for Fran to reassure her.

“You’re doing a brave thing,” Fran said, “for your sister.”

As they walked her back to the dining room, Mr. Lee pulled Fran aside.

“Did she tell you anything? She always was a secretive girl.” He looked over to Nellie, who was sitting with Orin and Mrs. Lee.

“She gave us some information,” Fran replied. “We’ll pursue it to help find your daughter’s killer.”

“It was that Silas, wasn’t it?” he said. “I don’t think it was that… Turkey or Chicken or whoever.”

Fran and Izzy exchanged another look.

“Why do you say that?” Fran asked, playing dumb. “Who’s Silas?”

“Oh, he was a farmer. Sweet on her. But I never liked him. Liked to lay hands on people. Not quite sure how his wife died.” He scratched his chin and looked out onto Main Street. “There was another girl—her parents got her out of there quick when they found out he was interested. Mean man.”

He paused.

“Yeah… might’ve been one less mouth to feed, but I’m not putting my daughter in that situation.” His eyes grew bright with tears. “That’s who you need to be looking at.”

“Could you give us more information about where he lives?”

Mr. Lee gave them the general directions and whom to ask for once they reached the area.

The two women thanked him and left the hotel.

Later that afternoon

 “This is great, ladies. Thank you for getting this information,” Sheriff Callahan said. “I sent Deputy Harland off to look for Chicken. Let him know we have another suspect. Maybe that’ll bring him in.”

 “Do you want us to go look for this Silas?” Fran asked.

 “That would help quite a bit. I don’t have the manpower to spare. I’d go myself, but I need someone to watch over the town.”

 “Well, we’re happy to do either,” Fran replied, interpreting Izzy’s sign.

 “I appreciate that, Miss de Laurent,” the sheriff said. “But if you two wouldn’t mind checking out this Silas, that would be great.”

 The two women packed their travel bags and set out on the trail. The little village of Dry Meadow—twenty miles out, give or take—was tucked deep in a wooded bend beyond the ridge.

 “That forty-mile round trip’s going to be a stretch,” Fran muttered as they rode out.

 As they traveled, they watched hawks circle lazily in the sky. A jackrabbit darted through the brush. They had provisions and let it live, though Izzy, a mean trapper when needed, could snare even the trickiest prey.

They camped that night in the shelter of some cottonwoods. The night came alive around them—howls in the distance, crickets loud in the underbrush.

Fran used to hate the sound of night. Too many evenings hiding outside Uncle Enoch’s house during one of his rages had made her wary of silence. Izzy had been the one to comfort her then, the strong one.

By dawn, they ate a little food, sipped some coffee, and mounted up. As the sun rose higher, Izzy became alert to movement behind them. Fran caught on moments later.

They drew their pistols and turned in their saddles.

A man slouched over on his horse appeared behind them, his mount plodding along. His clothes were wrinkled and dust-covered, his hair a tangle. He was fast asleep in the saddle.

Izzy clicked her tongue and waited. Seeing he was unarmed, she reached out and grabbed the reins as the horse came near. Fran gave the man a sharp kick.

He startled awake—his eyes flying wide at the sight of two guns pointed at him.

“What’s your name?” Fran asked.

 “Silas Warner,” he said, voice groggy. “Why you got a gun pointed in my face?”

 “Just the man we were looking for,” Fran replied, not lowering her weapon. “What are you doing out here?” She looked him over, unimpressed.

 “I’m headed into Thistle to see my Roberta,” he said.

 Fran narrowed her eyes. “Roberta who?”

 “Roberta Lee. I found out she works as a… as a prostitute, and I want to take her away from all that.”

 Izzy signed to Fran: Do you think he’s telling the truth? That he doesn’t know she’s dead?

Fran turned back. “When’s the last time you saw Roberta?”

“When she left—six months ago. I’ve been lookin’ for her ever since. Just found out where she was. I’m goin’ in to get her.”

 Fran didn’t give anything away. “Well, why don’t we escort you? We’re from Thistle Creek.”

 Silas asked. “You said you’re looking for me? Why?” He looked a bit more alert.

 “Yup,” Fran said. “We’ll make sure you get there.”

 They turned their horses back toward town. Izzy’s gun was trained on him, keeping him silent.

 By late evening, they rode into Thistle Creek. Izzy took Silas to the hotel while Fran found Sheriff Callahan.

 “Well, that was fast,” he said after Fran explained what had happened.

 “Where is he now?”

 “Izzy’s got him at the hotel. We didn’t let on that anything was wrong.”

 “Did Harland find Chicken?”

 “He sure did. Gave him some trouble, but Sidewalker Sal gave him up fast when she found out he might’ve been involved in Roberta’s death.”

 “Never known Sal to side with a woman,” Fran mused, pushing her hat back.

 Sheriff Callahan shrugged. “Don’t care; just glad we got Chicken.”

 They walked together to the hotel, where Roberta’s family had seen Silas.

Mr. Lee was shouting, red in the face. Silas looked stunned.

 “Not my Berta… Not my Berta!” he cried, collapsing to the boardwalk.

“She’s not your Berta!” Roberta’s mother shouted. “You did it! We saw the bruises on her arms. She told us! We were gonna send her away, but she ran off before we could, and now she’s dead!”

 The woman launched herself at Silas, flailing. He didn’t resist. He sat there, tears falling. A crowd had gathered.

“I never laid a finger on her,” he whispered.

“Liar!” Roberta’s mother shrieked.

Fran and Izzy stepped in, gently pulling the grieving woman away. Sheriff Callahan helped Silas to his feet.

 “Silas Warner,” he said. “How about we go have a chat in my office? Someone’ll take care of your horse.”

 He looked at Fran. She nodded.

 Silas, shaking, allowed himself to be led away.

 Izzy stayed behind to help calm the Lee family, leading them back to their room. Madame Sue stood at the edge of the boardwalk in the shadows, the red butt of her cigarette gleaming.

 “What are you all looking at?” Fran snapped at the crowd. “You never seen grief before? You want to gawk at a family who just lost their daughter and sister?”

 “Well, she wasn’t nothin’ but a two-bit whore, was she?” Mrs. Pritchett muttered from the front.

 “Don’t you have anything better to do, you old biddy?” Fran shouted.

 Gasps and laughter rippled through the crowd. Mrs. Pritchett turned red and stormed off.

 “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Fran called after her.

 She and Izzy returned to the sheriff’s office, just as Callahan was deep into questioning Silas.

 “I never meant to hurt her,” Silas was saying. “But when I found out she was thinking of leaving for a better life… I got jealous. Thought she was seeing another man.”

“She deny it?” Sheriff Callahan asked.

 “She did. But then I found out she was working as a… as a…” he trailed off. “I just had to come find her.”

“Where were you three weeks ago? Did you come into town and kill her?”

Silas gasped. “I’d never. You can come to my house—my mother, my sister, her family… they’ll vouch for me. I’ve been home the whole time.”

 “Why wait so long to come find her if you knew where she was?”

 “She told me she never wanted to see me again. I believed her. But then my sister convinced me. Said if I loved her, I should try to bring her home.”

 From the cell, Chicken started yelling.

 “I didn’t kill Roberta! But if that man had been messin’ with my girl, I’d kill him!”

 “Shut up!” Fran barked.

 Sheriff Callahan turned back to Silas.

 “Well, Mr. Warner. I’ll ask you not to leave town. I’d rather not put you in the cell with Chicken.”

 Chicken howled again from behind bars.

 “So I’ll just ask you to stay close.”

 Silas put his hat back on. His eyes were red and swollen.

 “Yes, Sheriff. I won’t leave. I’ll prove to you—and to Berta’s family—that I’m innocent.”

 He left quietly, heading back toward the hotel.

 Chicken started up again, yelling about how unfair it was.

 “You can cool off in there,” the sheriff said, slamming the door. “You’ve caused enough trouble.”

 Turning to the women, he gave a weary smile.

 “Well, ladies. It’s been quite a day. I’ll see you in the morning.” He wandered up the street toward home.

***

Fran and Izzy crossed the street to Madame Sue’s.

 Letty, a pretty, plump young woman with bright blonde hair and blue eyes, opened the door, wide-eyed and smiling. "Evenin’. Miss Sue’s up in her room."

 "Mind if we go up?"

 "I reckon not," Letty said.

 As they started upstairs, Izzy signed a quick question to Fran, who turned and asked Letty, "How’d you get that big scratch on your neck?"

 Letty's hand went up instinctively. A long red scratch ran from under her chin to her shoulder.

 "Oh, one of the men got a little rough, is all."

 "Which one?"

 “Oh… it’s no bother, Miss Fran. I don’t want to cause any trouble. He’s a good client, just sometimes gets a little rough.”

Izzy signed her disapproval. Fran agreed.

 "You be careful, Letty."

 "Yes, ma’am," she said quickly, cheeks flushing as she hurried away.

 Fran thought she was acting oddly and signed to Izzy: “Maybe she’s one to watch.”

 Something seemed off.

 Izzy stopped her halfway up the stairs.

 “Did you notice the bracelet she was wearing?” she signed.

Fran shook her head, now slightly annoyed that Izzy sometimes got distracted by pretty jewelry.

 “It was Roberta’s. She showed it to me when Chicken got it for her.”

 Fran’s eyes narrowed. "You sure?"

 Izzy nodded. Fran hesitated, then said, "Go get her. Tell her Miss Sue wants her. I’ll meet you upstairs."

 Izzy found Letty downstairs near the piano, flirting with a man twice her age. She did her best to sign that Madame Sue wanted her.

 Letty frowned, but allowed herself to be led away, smiling at the man all the while.

 “I’ll be back,” she said, coyly. “Don’t you go running off with another girl.”

 As she and Izzy went up the stairs, Letty muttered,

 "You made me lose a client, you dumb cow. You owe me for this."

 Izzy was shocked by Letty’s shift in behavior. She’d always seemed like a sweet girl.

Letty entered the room ahead of her.

 Madame Sue, now alert, locked eyes with Fran and Izzy, who signed, “I think Letty has something to do with Roberta’s death.”

 Fran signed back, “You sure?”

“She’s wearing Roberta’s earrings too.”

 Fran looked again. She hadn’t noticed before, but Izzy was usually right about the details.

Fran whispered in Madame Sue’s ear. Sue’s eyes went wide. She stared at Letty’s necklace and earrings.

Then, without warning, she slapped Letty across the face.

"I taught you better than to steal from a dead girl!"

Letty clutched her cheek. "Bertie gave them to me! Said they looked better on me!"

"Nobody likes a liar," Fran said coldly. "Let me see your hands, Letty."

Letty froze, then shoved her hands behind her back.

"Show them," Madame Sue ordered.

With a trembling motion, Letty brought her hands forward. Fran noticed a chipped nail on the middle finger of her right hand.

"How’d you break that?" Madame Sue asked. She grabbed her face roughly and turned it, looking at the scratch. “And who gave you this?”

“Like I told Fran and Izzy—one of the clients got rough. When I defended myself, I broke a nail.”

“Or is it more likely you lost that nail when Roberta was fighting for her life?” Fran shot back.

Madame Sue gave her a sharp look. “Letty would never… I raised her from a young age.”

Fran and Izzy’s stoic expressions didn’t falter, and Miss Sue’s face fell.

“What did you do, girl?"

Letty’s sweet façade vanished, replaced by cold fury.

"You brought that bitch in here, and she started taking all the men, especially Chicken. Remember how he used to give me nice things? These earrings and necklace should’ve been mine."

Madame Sue’s face went blank with shock.

 “How could you?” she whispered. “I raised you like a daughter.”

 “I didn’t need a mother. You’re just an old, used-up whore who uses up the new girls to stay rich and fat.”

 The slap that followed was so loud Fran was sure the girls in the next room heard it.

 Letty didn’t even flinch.

 Her hands rose, and she charged at Madame Sue.

 Izzy stepped in front of her. Fran was right behind.

 They shoved Letty backward.

 “You don’t touch Miss Sue!” Fran yelled as Izzy pinned the girl to the wall.

 “Go get the sheriff,” Fran said.

 Miss Sue, her anger burning through her, wrenched the door open. She spat at Letty’s feet.

 “You’re no daughter of mine. Adopted or not—how could you kill that girl?”

 Letty struggled and fought, but Fran and Izzy held her until Sheriff Callahan arrived, still fastening his belt.

 “What’s this I hear? You caught the killer?” he asked, wide-eyed.

 “She basically admitted it,” Fran growled, scowling at the girl.

Izzy, offering no comfort now, marched Letty down the stairs and across the street.

 The older gentleman at the piano barely looked up. A new girl giggled on his knee.

 “Sorry, darling,” he called out as Letty passed. “Couldn’t wait. Maybe next time.”

 The ther girl laughed—until she saw Letty’s bound wrists and went stone still.

 ***

As they entered the Sheriff’s Office, Chicken started hollering from his cell.

 “Why’s Letty here?” he called out.

 Letty let out a string of curses so foul they made even the sheriff blush.

 Sheriff Callahan guided her into the office for the interview. Letty, knowing the jig was up, refused to talk.

 “Not ‘til Chicken can hear it,” she said, eyes flashing. “He chose her over me. I want him to hear how I killed her.”

 Sheriff Callahan, not usually one to give in to a suspect’s demands, knew if he wanted a confession, he’d best let her give it her way.

 Fran and Izzy stood by, appalled. Madame Sue was there too, arms crossed, her eyes hard as stone.

 Letty began.

 She told how she’d been planning to kill Roberta ever since Chicken left her for the new girl. The jealousy had festered—boiled into something mean and cruel.

 One night, it spilled over when Roberta, unaware of Letty’s past with Chicken, proudly showed off the jewelry he’d gifted her.

Chicken shouted at Letty, rage and horror battling on his face. “How could you? I knew you were mad. That’s why I left you!”

 Letty grinned. “That’s all I’m saying. I don’t care if they hang me. At least I’ll be wearing the jewelry that was meant for me. I’ll die knowing that the jewelry you gave to the woman you loved is on me.”

 “Not if I can help it, girl,” Madame Sue snapped. “Girls, hold her.”

 Izzy and Fran each grabbed Letty by the arms as Madame Sue stormed forward and yanked the earrings, bracelet, and necklace from her. The men stood aside.

 Letty screamed and squalled like a wet cat, but Madame Sue paid her no mind. She tried to give the jewelry to Chicken.

 He shook his head, tears streaming down his face, head on the bar, arms hanging limply at his sides. “Give it to the girl’s mother. Maybe… they might want it.”

 “I don’t think they’re going to want that,” Fran said, her heart softening—if only slightly—for the bandit who’d brought them nothing but trouble and likely would again.

 “You take it. Remember her by it,” Madame Sue said.

 “Will you hold on to it for me, Miss Sue?” Chicken asked. “Just for a little while?”

 “Of course,” she said gently.

 Sheriff Callahan looked at Letty. “I think it’s time to switch who’s in that cage.”

 Madame Sue fixed Letty with a glare. “Don’t come to me looking for help through this. You’re going to hang, young lady.”

 Letty just smirked.

 Sheriff Callahan let Chicken go. He looked at Letty with a mixture of shock and disgust before hurrying out into the night, wanting no part of her anymore.

 Letty walked into the cell quietly. The door clanged shut behind her.

 Madame Sue stood watching her through the bars. “This is why I tell the girls: never fall in love with the clients. Someone always ends up dead. That poor Roberta…”

 She, too, wandered out into the night.

 Fran, Izzy, and Sheriff Callahan stood in silence, then exchanged a single nod.

Callahan locked up for the night as Fran and Izzy headed home.

 Izzy signed to Fran: “Hopefully tomorrow’s a better day.”

 Fran gave a short, tired laugh. “Hopefully… but not likely. Thistle Creek’s getting a lot of new people, and they all bring their troubles.”

For more Western tales with The Sullivan Sisters, click their tag below.

Teacake Tidbits

1. Push for Statehood

In 1875, Colorado was still a U.S. Territory, but momentum was building toward statehood. Congress passed the Colorado Enabling Act on March 3, 1875, authorizing the territory to draft a state constitution and apply for statehood. This marked a significant turning point, and Colorado would officially become a state in 1876—earning it the nickname "The Centennial State."

2. Mining Boom and Population Growth

By 1875, Colorado’s silver and gold mining industry was booming, especially in areas like Leadville, Central City, and Georgetown. These mining operations drew thousands of settlers, fortune-seekers, and immigrants to the region, transforming small towns into bustling hubs and fueling the economy.

3. Expansion of Railroads

The expansion of the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad in the 1870s brought significant infrastructure development. Narrow-gauge tracks pushed deeper into the Rockies, linking remote mining camps with Denver and beyond. This made travel and shipping more efficient and further opened up the territory to commerce and migration.