hard soil of Kansas. Maybe it was bad shoeing, maybe it was the horse, but it was something. Something to work with. Something to find.
Only one set of horse prints; she'd ridden with him to her death. The horse had continued on with his rider, the tracks showing the lighter load he carried going north. Abilene was north.
Another one; he hadn't thought there'd be another one so quick. It didn't fit the pattern and anything that didn't fit the pattern made him sweat. He was sweating now and the sun wasn't high enough or strong enough to be the reason.
He crouched down, studying her in the strong light. Her throat was badly bruised, the skin chalk white everywhere else, showing off the purple and black of her neck like a bold necklace. But it was no necklace. It was the mark of her death.
He bent closer, studying the mark, wanting it to tell him something about just how the girl had died. He'd seen enough death wounds in his life to have the knack of knowing how it had happened, what kind of round had shattered bone or the length of the knife that had pierced the lung. Or just what it had been that choked off air until air didn't matter anymore.
The wound around her neck was heaviest in the front; the pressure had come from the back, pulled tight against her wind until she'd run out of air. The mark was even and smooth, not the raw burn of rope, except that there was an oval of uneven bruising and in the middle of that oval, a pair of parallel lines. Deep bruises they were, dark and bold. The pressure had been strong there. But what would leave a mark like that? Not a whip, not a wire, unless barbed wire? But the wound wasn't punctured... it was just like all those others. He'd never seen death wounds like this until finding that first gal, Abbie, down in Texas, and he'd not known what he was looking at then. He still didn't know. And another girl was dead.
He couldn't just leave her. He didn't know her people, so he couldn't bring her to them. Standing, Jack slapped his hat against his leg and Joe still remained easy. He was learning Jack's ways and knew that the flying, slapping hat was no threat.
There was nothing for it; he would have to take her into Abilene, hoping Lane could identify her and get her folks told and her body in the ground. He couldn't just leave her, not out in the open with her eyes looking up at the sun without blinking and her arms stretched out and empty. He wouldn't leave her. And that meant the end of the secret, at least in Abilene.
Jack approached her politely, almost wanting to ask her pardon for the way he had to touch her. Smoothing down her skirts, he lifted her by her outstretched arms, holding her for a moment in a stiff embrace until he could get her body positioned over Joe. Joe made no complaint. There was no blood smell.
He covered her with his bedroll spread out, but skeins of her black hair fell down to almost brush against the ground. She was a pretty girl. But then, they were all pretty girls.
Another one dead, and so soon.
Jack mounted carefully, not wanting to disturb her. He'd come looking for a horse thief and found a body. Jack pulled down on his hat until his face was in full shadow. Another death; he should have known. He'd seen a comet just last night. Comets were omens of disaster.
* * *
It was as still as death in Abilene that afternoon when he rode in, almost as still as the girl lying over his saddle. Her hair swung in tempo with Joe's gait. It was the only thing about her that moved; there was no life left in her. Nothing but that dark fall of swinging hair.
The folks in Abilene were no more happy to see her than they were to see him.
"This time he's killed one. And a woman, too."
"No shame, that's what. He'd do anything for money."
"No pride either."
Jack ignored them and tied up at the sheriff’s. Joe, at least, wasn't giving him any trouble. He left the girl and checked the office. Lane was out. Given the mood of the growing crowd, that was
Only one set of horse prints; she'd ridden with him to her death. The horse had continued on with his rider, the tracks showing the lighter load he carried going north. Abilene was north.
Another one; he hadn't thought there'd be another one so quick. It didn't fit the pattern and anything that didn't fit the pattern made him sweat. He was sweating now and the sun wasn't high enough or strong enough to be the reason.
He crouched down, studying her in the strong light. Her throat was badly bruised, the skin chalk white everywhere else, showing off the purple and black of her neck like a bold necklace. But it was no necklace. It was the mark of her death.
He bent closer, studying the mark, wanting it to tell him something about just how the girl had died. He'd seen enough death wounds in his life to have the knack of knowing how it had happened, what kind of round had shattered bone or the length of the knife that had pierced the lung. Or just what it had been that choked off air until air didn't matter anymore.
The wound around her neck was heaviest in the front; the pressure had come from the back, pulled tight against her wind until she'd run out of air. The mark was even and smooth, not the raw burn of rope, except that there was an oval of uneven bruising and in the middle of that oval, a pair of parallel lines. Deep bruises they were, dark and bold. The pressure had been strong there. But what would leave a mark like that? Not a whip, not a wire, unless barbed wire? But the wound wasn't punctured... it was just like all those others. He'd never seen death wounds like this until finding that first gal, Abbie, down in Texas, and he'd not known what he was looking at then. He still didn't know. And another girl was dead.
He couldn't just leave her. He didn't know her people, so he couldn't bring her to them. Standing, Jack slapped his hat against his leg and Joe still remained easy. He was learning Jack's ways and knew that the flying, slapping hat was no threat.
There was nothing for it; he would have to take her into Abilene, hoping Lane could identify her and get her folks told and her body in the ground. He couldn't just leave her, not out in the open with her eyes looking up at the sun without blinking and her arms stretched out and empty. He wouldn't leave her. And that meant the end of the secret, at least in Abilene.
Jack approached her politely, almost wanting to ask her pardon for the way he had to touch her. Smoothing down her skirts, he lifted her by her outstretched arms, holding her for a moment in a stiff embrace until he could get her body positioned over Joe. Joe made no complaint. There was no blood smell.
He covered her with his bedroll spread out, but skeins of her black hair fell down to almost brush against the ground. She was a pretty girl. But then, they were all pretty girls.
Another one dead, and so soon.
Jack mounted carefully, not wanting to disturb her. He'd come looking for a horse thief and found a body. Jack pulled down on his hat until his face was in full shadow. Another death; he should have known. He'd seen a comet just last night. Comets were omens of disaster.
* * *
It was as still as death in Abilene that afternoon when he rode in, almost as still as the girl lying over his saddle. Her hair swung in tempo with Joe's gait. It was the only thing about her that moved; there was no life left in her. Nothing but that dark fall of swinging hair.
The folks in Abilene were no more happy to see her than they were to see him.
"This time he's killed one. And a woman, too."
"No shame, that's what. He'd do anything for money."
"No pride either."
Jack ignored them and tied up at the sheriff’s. Joe, at least, wasn't giving him any trouble. He left the girl and checked the office. Lane was out. Given the mood of the growing crowd, that was
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