[ Faraday's own work is relatively easy: finding where Jack ran off to, first of all. And the horse, being the stubborn, protective cuss he is, had returned to the barn to impatiently await Faraday's return. Grabbing up a shovel. Hauling the body onto Jack's back and swinging himself into the saddle behind him.

He rides hard after that, putting some distance between himself and the ranch. Best to find some remote area for the final resting place of one Wyatt Garrison, former bounty hunter and mean son of a bitch – far from the ranch as possible so as not to give the women cause to worry about repercussions. Faraday buries him in some wooded area, overgrown and difficult to get to, and as he tosses the dirt back over his body, he takes a second to pity the poor bastard for being unlucky enough to cross Faraday's path.

By the time he returns, the setting sun has painted the sky in fiery reds and oranges. Dirt covers his forearms and clothing, and his return is signaled by his stamping on the porch, shaking dirt from his boots. When he finally enters it, he glances around. Keeps his voice light. ]

Took care of that nasty bit of business.