The Sunshine Killers by Giles Tippette

door of the bunkhouse, shutting it carefully behind him. For a moment he stood there yawning and stretching in the dazzling whiteness of the morning. Finally he looked toward Schmidt’s. He saw a horse standing there, just to the leeward side, his reins hanging abandoned. The man took a step or two closer, looking hard at the horse. Then he suddenly whirled and raced back in the bunkhouse. “Hey, Tomlain,” he yelled, jerking his thumb. “You better come here an’ look. I think that hunter is back.”
    Tomlain was sitting on a bunk, still drinking coffee. He turned slowly to look at the man. “What?” he asked flatly.
    â€œThat goddam hunter’s horse is out there. Right behind Schmidt’s.”
    Without another word Tomlain got up, found his gunbelt, put it on, and then led the others as they trooped through the door. As they went he spoke to Billy, “If that sonofabitch is back we’ll see who’s head it’s on now. Wouldn’t let me kill him. Well, we’ll see what Mister McGraw says.”
    They trudged through the snow, staring hard at the horse as they came. The animal, looking drawn and sorry from his long night in the freezing weather turned his head and stared back. They ranged up along his side and Billy went to his head and took up the reins. “Hell,” he said, “this horse came back in here on his own. Look at that.” He pointed to the heavy crust of snow on the saddle. “He’s been standing out here all night. And these reins are just hanging loose. Nobody rode this horse in here. He wandered in.”
    â€œBy the lord,” Barney said, “I do believe you be right.”
    Tomlain looked at the horse and then the snow around him. He licked his lips. “I don’t know,” he said.
    â€œSure,” Billy said, “it’s plain as paint.” He pointed. “Horse is still saddled, but the saddlebags and that old boy’s rifle are gone. He got off that horse somewhere up the line to try and make him a camp. Probably weak as skimmed milk. He got his rifle and his saddlebags off and then the horse got away from him. Maybe he even collapsed.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Tomlain said again. He rubbed his black-whiskered jaw. “Could be.”
    â€œLooks likely,” one of the other men said. “Horse ain’t dumb. He wadn’t gonna stand out in that cold and freeze. He made back for the only place he knew where they was a barn and hay.”
    â€œMaybe so,” Tomlain said again.
    â€œHell,” Billy insisted. “Ain’t no maybe about it. That man is laying up the line somewhere makin’ a hump under the snow.”
    Instinctively they all walked to the front of Schmidt’s and looked up the road. It was all snow as far as they could see. Nothing to break the whiteness. “Nothing could live out in that,” Billy said. “Not no man on foot and hurt.”
    â€œWe still ought to look around a little,” Tomlain said. “Make sure he didn’t ride back in and hole up.”
    â€œThat can’t hurt nothin’,” Billy agreed. “Well, we know he ain’t in the bunkhouse or Schmidt’s or the women’s house. That just leaves the barns and them two other buildings over yonder. Barney, you take that horse and put him up in the barn back of the women’s place. They got more room and they ain’t no point in lettin’ a good animal stand out here and freeze. Then have a look around while the rest of us look them other buildings over.”
    Â 
    At an upstairs front window of the women’s house, a girl looked out at the men beginning to disperse for the search. She watched for a moment and then turned away. The room was still dim, the morning’s sun not having fully illuminated it yet. Letty was lying in one chair, asleep, and Juno in another. Saulter was lying on the bed, also asleep. He stirred restless from