rotting alive in the brutal sun. Whether it had been hours or days, it had been too long.
They’d only found one set of tracks leading away from the body. When he found the bastard who’d done this, Hale would see him hanged slowly. A broken neck would be too good for this animal. He deserved to know what his victims had known. He deserved to see death coming.
But before Hale could hang him, he had to find him, and so far they didn’t have even a hint of a clue. Even the tracks had been swept clean by a sudden windstorm.
Glancing toward the figure that rode a hundred yards to his right, Hale raised a hand. Deputy Brady waved back. All clear. Nothing to report.
“Shit.”
They’d have to turn back soon if they meant to make it back to town tonight. Hale wanted desperately to get back, but he made himself keep riding. Brady’s wife was due to give birth any day now, and the deputy hadn’t complained once this week. Hale’s concerns were inconsequential in comparison. Meaningless. But the carpenter had finished up Lily’s shelves today, and he wanted to see her books all in order, wanted to share that with her.
Yet Hale knew that if he rode home tonight and they found a dead cowboy tomorrow, he’d blame himself. Hell, he’d blame himself, regardless. These people were under his protection.
A hawk glided past his field of vision. Her head was down, her path of flight pointed for a spot many yards beyond. As Hale watched her fly, a hint of a smell touched his nose. Reining his tired pony in, he stood in his stirrups and drew a deep breath.
Smoke.
Probably nothing, but he still looked slowly around before urging the horse forward. Fifty feet ahead, the smell grew stronger. Hale narrowed his eyes and held up a hand to signal Brady, but a quick glance showed that Brady stared straight ahead. Hell, he was probably lost in worry over his wife.
Hale kept his hand high and wheeled the horse around in a slow circle. He couldn’t see the smoke, but he could smell it. A low rise offered a hiding place to the north. If the fire were small enough, it could be hidden there.
This time when he looked toward Brady, he saw that his deputy had finally halted and was headed back toward Hale. Easing his horse off the path, Hale walked it toward the swell of rock, drawing his pistol before he’d gotten a dozen feet off the trail.
A sudden clatter of rock set his pulse racing. Without bothering to look back toward Brady, Hale swept his arm around and pointed Brady toward the west. A low whistle gave Brady’s answer. They’d come around the rise from opposite sides and hopefully cornered their prey.
If there was someone here, it was likely a cowboy or a drifter. Maybe even a lone Indian. Still, Hale quietly raised his pistol and edged his mount carefully between the loose stones.
The deep lowing of a steer suddenly pierced the silence. His shoulders were starting to relax as he rounded the edge of the rise. It was just a herd of cattle, clattering around in the rocks. But before his shoulders could return to their normal line, he registered that something was strange about these cattle. They stood too close together, penned in by a low ring of thornbush branches.
He was dropping down behind his pony when he heard the click of a pistol being cocked.
A man peeked his head above a boulder set deep within the shadows of rock. Hale squinted, surprised that he recognized the pale shock of hair.
“Serge?” he called out. “What are you doing out here?”
Serge’s head shifted a little higher. “Sheriff? I ain’t doing much. Just out here rounding up some strays.”
“Why’ve you got your gun out, then?”
“Can’t be too safe these days.”
Well, he had a point there. But Serge wasn’t exactly a trustworthy character. He’d rolled into town a few months ago and Hale had promptly arrested him for cheating at cards. He was a mean drunk and greedy as hell, but Hale wouldn’t have pegged him for a killer.
He glanced
They’d only found one set of tracks leading away from the body. When he found the bastard who’d done this, Hale would see him hanged slowly. A broken neck would be too good for this animal. He deserved to know what his victims had known. He deserved to see death coming.
But before Hale could hang him, he had to find him, and so far they didn’t have even a hint of a clue. Even the tracks had been swept clean by a sudden windstorm.
Glancing toward the figure that rode a hundred yards to his right, Hale raised a hand. Deputy Brady waved back. All clear. Nothing to report.
“Shit.”
They’d have to turn back soon if they meant to make it back to town tonight. Hale wanted desperately to get back, but he made himself keep riding. Brady’s wife was due to give birth any day now, and the deputy hadn’t complained once this week. Hale’s concerns were inconsequential in comparison. Meaningless. But the carpenter had finished up Lily’s shelves today, and he wanted to see her books all in order, wanted to share that with her.
Yet Hale knew that if he rode home tonight and they found a dead cowboy tomorrow, he’d blame himself. Hell, he’d blame himself, regardless. These people were under his protection.
A hawk glided past his field of vision. Her head was down, her path of flight pointed for a spot many yards beyond. As Hale watched her fly, a hint of a smell touched his nose. Reining his tired pony in, he stood in his stirrups and drew a deep breath.
Smoke.
Probably nothing, but he still looked slowly around before urging the horse forward. Fifty feet ahead, the smell grew stronger. Hale narrowed his eyes and held up a hand to signal Brady, but a quick glance showed that Brady stared straight ahead. Hell, he was probably lost in worry over his wife.
Hale kept his hand high and wheeled the horse around in a slow circle. He couldn’t see the smoke, but he could smell it. A low rise offered a hiding place to the north. If the fire were small enough, it could be hidden there.
This time when he looked toward Brady, he saw that his deputy had finally halted and was headed back toward Hale. Easing his horse off the path, Hale walked it toward the swell of rock, drawing his pistol before he’d gotten a dozen feet off the trail.
A sudden clatter of rock set his pulse racing. Without bothering to look back toward Brady, Hale swept his arm around and pointed Brady toward the west. A low whistle gave Brady’s answer. They’d come around the rise from opposite sides and hopefully cornered their prey.
If there was someone here, it was likely a cowboy or a drifter. Maybe even a lone Indian. Still, Hale quietly raised his pistol and edged his mount carefully between the loose stones.
The deep lowing of a steer suddenly pierced the silence. His shoulders were starting to relax as he rounded the edge of the rise. It was just a herd of cattle, clattering around in the rocks. But before his shoulders could return to their normal line, he registered that something was strange about these cattle. They stood too close together, penned in by a low ring of thornbush branches.
He was dropping down behind his pony when he heard the click of a pistol being cocked.
A man peeked his head above a boulder set deep within the shadows of rock. Hale squinted, surprised that he recognized the pale shock of hair.
“Serge?” he called out. “What are you doing out here?”
Serge’s head shifted a little higher. “Sheriff? I ain’t doing much. Just out here rounding up some strays.”
“Why’ve you got your gun out, then?”
“Can’t be too safe these days.”
Well, he had a point there. But Serge wasn’t exactly a trustworthy character. He’d rolled into town a few months ago and Hale had promptly arrested him for cheating at cards. He was a mean drunk and greedy as hell, but Hale wouldn’t have pegged him for a killer.
He glanced
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