“Well, sitting here won’t get us any closer to the fella who used to ride you, old son,” Longarm said aloud to the Appaloosa. He heeled the spotted horse into a walk and left the road, heading north himself.
He was able to follow Rainey’s trail for a couple of miles, but then the tracks led over a long, rocky ridge, disappearing on the hard surface. Nor did they reappear on the far side of the ridge. Rainey had used this natural feature to his advantage, and Longarm knew the only way to pick up the trail would be to ride back and forth along both sides of the ridge and hope he could spot fresh tracks. That would be a time-consuming task, and Rainey already had a big lead on him.
The other way he could proceed, crossing the ridge and continuing toward the river in hopes of picking up the trail farther on, was a big gamble, Longarm knew. But it might be his only chance of actually catching up to Rainey.
He urged the Appaloosa into a trot that carried it up and over the ridge.
Less than an hour later, he came within sight of the Brazos, catching a glimpse of it through the fold between two hills. So far he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Mitch Rainey, and Longarm’s disgust was growing. It looked like he was in for another long, frustrating search, like the first one that had culminated in his near-fatal encounter with Rainey and the late Jimmy Lloyd. Not to mention that he still had the Brazos Devil and the disappearance of Emmaline Thorp to occupy his mind. He hadn’t seen Rainey, but he sure hadn’t seen any sort of monster either.
Longarm rode toward the river, maintaining his sharp-eyed alertness. Still, he had no warning when what sounded like an angry bee suddenly buzzed past his ear.
Instinct took over and sent him diving out of the saddle. He had heard way too many bullets coming close to his head over the years not to recognize the sound now. Since he hadn’t gone out to the Rocking T to ride with Thorp and Lord Beechmuir as planned, he still didn’t have a long gun, but the Colt was already in his hand when he hit the ground, for all the good it would do him. He rolled over a couple of times and powered into another dive that took him into a thick stand of trees. The Appaloosa scampered off several yards, evidently untouched by the shot but startled by his rider’s abrupt reaction to it.
Longarm crouched behind the too-narrow trunk of a live oak and gritted his teeth against the curses that welled up his throat. That shot had come from a long way off, he knew, because he was vaguely aware that he had heard the sound of the rifle while he was already throwing himself out of the saddle. For a long-distance shot, it had come damned close to hitting him. Of course, it was possible it had been an accident, that whoever had fired the high-powered weapon hadn’t been aiming at him at all. As far as he knew, Mitch Rainey didn’t even have a rifle.
Of course, Rainey could have stolen one from a farm or ranch, Longarm thought. But it was more likely that someone else he knew to be in this part of the country had pulled the trigger. John Booth, Lord Beechmuir, had been bragging just the night before about how powerful his Markham & Halliday elephant gun was, and Longarm knew too that Catamount Jack packed a Sharps, which was fully capable of throwing a slug that far.
But why would either of those men, experienced hunters that they were, shoot at him? Longarm couldn’t answer that question.
There had only been the one shot, and then silence had descended over the countryside again. Longarm wondered if it was safe to venture out. One thing was certain—he couldn’t squat here in these trees all day.
He stood up and moved out of the thicket, calling softly to the Appaloosa as he did so. The horse had started cropping contentedly at the grass, and Longarm was able to catch him without any trouble. Longarm holstered his gun and swung up into the saddle. He twisted his head around, trying to figure out where the shot had come from. There was a wooded hill about six hundred yards away that would have made a good vantage point for the rifleman. Longarm squinted at it and wished he had the pair of field glasses he always carried in his saddlebags. Like all the rest of his gear, they had vanished with the gray gelding.
He thought he saw movement on the hill, but it was too far away to be sure of what he was seeing… or even if he was just imagining it. Still, Longarm pointed the Appaloosa in that direction and heeled it into a trot.
He covered the distance quickly, but by the time he reached the hillside, there was no longer anyone there. However, he found the prints of several horses—six or seven of them, in fact. That had to be Thorp’s party, Longarm decided, although it was slightly larger than he had expected it to be. He followed the tracks around the shoulder of the hill.
Within fifteen minutes, he came within sight of them. There were seven people in the group running across a meadow in front of him: Benjamin Thorp and two of his ranch hands, Lord Beechmuir, the two servants—and Lady Beechmuir. Longarm hadn’t expected to see Helene Booth out here, but there was no mistaking the bright red hair underneath a yellow hat with a tall feather on it. The dress Helene wore was the same shade of yellow. Nobody was going to mistake her for a monster, Longarm thought—and that was a good thing under the circumstances.
He hailed them, and they came to a halt in the middle of the pasture. Longarm rode up to them and lifted a hand in greeting. “Howdy, folks,” he said.
“Hello, Marshal,” Thorp said. “I didn’t think you were coming with us today. Mal Burley rode out to the ranch early this morning and told us about your prisoner escaping.”
“Well, it looks like our paths crossed anyway, like I halfway expected they might. ‘Pears that Rainey came in this direction when he lit out from the jail in Cottonwood Springs.”
Lord Beechmuir was wearing another one of those Wild West show costumes with a fringed and beaded jacket and tight leggings. His hat today was dark brown. He said to Longarm, “We’ve seen no sign of your fugitive, Marshal.”
That was going to be Longarm’s next question. Since Booth had already answered it, he asked another one. “What about the Brazos Devil?”
Thorp sighed. “No sign of him … or of my wife.”
“It’s only been part of a day, old boy,” Booth said. “Don’t give up hope.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Thorp said with a shake of his head. “I’ll never give up hope.”
Longarm thought the declaration sounded a little hollow. Thorp was a man grasping at straws now, and they all knew it. Longarm said, “I might as well ride along with you folks for a while, but there’s one more thing I want to know first. Did any of you shoot at anything a little while ago?”
“I’m afraid that was me, Marshal Long,” Helene said. “I thought I saw the creature. The shot was a long one, but I took it anyway.”
Longarm looked directly at her and said, “That was me you were shooting at, ma’am.”
Helene lifted a hand to her mouth and exclaimed, “Oh, my God! Are you all right, Marshal?”
Lord Beechmuir asked anxiously, “You weren’t hit, were you?”
Longarm shook his head. “No harm done,” he assured them. “But if you don’t mind me saying so, your ladyship, that was a hell of a shot. You almost parted my hair for me at nearly six hundred yards.”
Helene’s face was pale, washed out. She shook her head and said, “I wouldn’t … I never meant to …”
“It’s all right, ma’am,” Longarm said quickly. “We all make mistakes.”
Booth looked at his wife but spoke to Longarm. “I already made it quite plain to Lady Beechmuir that she should not take any more shots without letting the rest of us know about it first. I promise you, Marshal, we were almost as startled as you.”
“You don’t have to be mean about it, John,” Helene snapped. “I said I was sorry, and I’m sure Marshal Long knows that I meant no harm.”
Lord Beechmuir said, “Well, I’m not sure why you decided to come along today anyway. I expected you to stay at Benjamin’s ranch house.”