Braverman grimaced and looked uncomfortable as he shifted in the saddle.
“We tried, Zack, we really did.”
“But?” Jardine said ominously.
“But those two drifters who sided him in that saloon brawl showed up and came mighty close to partin’ our hair with lead. We had to get out of there while we still could.”
Jardine glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot, then said, “You stupid sons of bitches. Now not only Two Wolves is out there poking around where he doesn’t belong, but so are those two cowboys. I’ve got a bad feeling about them.”
“It gets worse, boss,” Hilliard added with a shake of his head. “We were watchin’ from a distance, and we saw Boyd and his crew come up and grab the redskin and the other two.”
“They didn’t kill Two Wolves and his friends?”
That was probably too much good luck to hope for, Jardine thought.
Hilliard confirmed that hunch by saying, “No, they disarmed the three of ’em but didn’t hurt them as far as we could tell. Then the whole bunch rode off to the northwest, the same direction those boys took the cows.”
Jardine took a deep breath and tried to reassure himself that everything would be all right.
“We figured all along that Boyd and his men would try to trail the herd,” he said. “They won’t be able to find it.”
“That’s what that Injun claimed,” Braverman said. “But we don’t know that for sure.”
“Who knows those godforsaken canyons better than a Navajo?” Jardine asked.
“But Boyd’s got Two Wolves with him now. He’s Cheyenne, but maybe he can track as well as a Navajo can.”
Jardine took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thick black hair. The whole deal had seemed so simple at first ...
All they had to do was steal those rifles before the guns made it to Fort Defiance, deliver them to the hotheads among the Navajo who wanted war with the whites, stir up the settlers by rustling a few cattle and killing a couple of punchers, and then sit back and let nature take its course.
When the fighting was all over, the redskins would be herded out of the Four Corners, and Jardine would be ready to swoop in and take over.
He scowled at Braverman and Hilliard as he recalled that if they hadn’t been so trigger-happy a week earlier, maybe none of the problems that currently plagued him would have cropped up. That incident had fouled up the delivery of the rifles, and the plan hadn’t recovered yet from having that kink thrown into it.
Now this unlikely alliance between Two Wolves, those two mysterious cowboys, and the crew from the Devil’s Pitchfork threatened to make things even worse.
Jardine sighed and settled his hat back on his head.
“There’s only one thing we can do about it now,” he said. “Angus, get a fresh horse and ride for the place where the cattle are being held as fast as you can. Warn the boys watching them that trouble may be on the way.”
“You really think I can get there before Boyd and the others do, boss?”
“I don’t know, but you can damned well try,” Jardine snapped. “There’s a good chance, because you know where you’re going and they don’t. Now get a move on.”
“You want me to go with Angus, Zack?” Hilliard asked.
Jardine shook his head.
“He’s a lot lighter than you. On a fresh horse he can move pretty fast.” He scowled at Braverman. “Didn’t you hear me? Go!”
Braverman nodded and pulled his horse around.
“You bet!”
He headed for the livery stable to change mounts.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out, boss,” Hilliard said. “It’s like that damned Injun’s got some sort of redskin spirits lookin’ out for him! Every time we think we’re about to ventilate him, he gets out of it somehow.”
“Two Wolves’ luck can’t last forever,” Jardine said as hate filled his heart. “And when it runs out, I hope I’m looking at him over the barrel of a gun.”
Fifty cows and the half-dozen men pushing them along couldn’t help but leave a lot of tracks.
Unfortunately, even though there hadn’t been any rain in this arid country in a long time, the wind blew and sometimes wiped out marks left in the dust.
Not only that, but there were stretches of rocky ground as well where the hooves of cattle and unshod horses didn’t leave any impressions.
Because of those things, following the rustlers’ trail was more difficult than one might think it would be. However, Sam had anticipated that, so he wasn’t surprised when the tracks disappeared about five miles northwest of the ranch and the riders from the Devil’s Pitchfork had to search for them again.
As prisoners, Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur rode along with Boyd and the other men. They didn’t have any choice.
After an interval of futile searching, Sam suggested, “Why don’t you let me have a look, Mr. Boyd?”
The three prisoners were sitting their horses with Boyd, Lowry, and another man to guard them while the rest of the Devil’s Pitchfork hands rode back and forth across the range, looking for the trail.
“Don’t listen to him, boss,” Lowry said in response to Sam’s suggestion. “It’s bound to be a trick of some sort.”
John Henry Boyd frowned.
“What if he was to find the tracks of those rustlers?”
“Well, of course he might find ’em,” Lowry blustered. “I still say he’s probably one of ’em. He already knows where they went.”
Boyd looked at Sam, who shook his head.
“I don’t have any idea,” he said. “But I’m pretty good at finding a trail, if I do say so myself.”
“So’s Stovepipe,” Wilbur put in. “He’s got eyes like a hawk.”
Stovepipe grinned.
“Better than a nose like a buzzard, I reckon.”
Boyd frowned in thought as he rasped his fingers over the silvery stubble on his chin. After a moment, he nodded.
“All right, if you think you can find the trail, have at it,” he told Sam and the two cowboys. “But we’ll be right behind you, and if you try anything funny, you’ll wind up blasted out of the saddle quicker than you can blink.”
“No tricks,” Sam promised. “We want to find those cows as much as you do.”
“You know, I almost believe you,” Boyd said. “Which makes me wonder why you feel that way.”
“Because maybe then you’ll realize that we’re not your enemy, and neither are the Navajo.”
Lowry’s beefy face flushed even more.
“What about those unshod hoofprints we found? What kind of white man would ride an unshod horse?”
“The kind who’s trying to make everyone think he’s an Indian,” Sam said. He lifted his reins and heeled his mount into motion. “Come on.”
After all that, he was going to feel like an utter fool if he couldn’t find the trail, he thought wryly.
Less than fifteen minutes had gone by, however, when he spotted a rock that was a little darker than the same sort of rocks scattered all around it. The stone had been turned over recently and the burning sun hadn’t had the chance to bleach as much color out of it.
Sam reined in and swung down from his horse. As he hunkered on his heels to study the ground, John Henry Boyd called a question from behind him.
“You find something, Two Wolves?”
“Maybe,” Sam said. He spotted another darker rock a few feet away, and another after that. He straightened and walked forward slowly, leading his horse.
The signs were small, in some cases so tiny as to be almost invisible, but they were there. Sam followed them for a good fifty yards before he found an actual hoofprint. It had been left by a cow, and he came across more and more of them as the ground became softer again.
“Here,” he said, pointing. “They came through here.”
He lifted his arm and leveled it in a generally northwest direction, toward the area of buttes, ridges, and canyons where Caballo Rojo and his people lived.