For all his thoughts on the subject, Danny hated to think of the way the two young men died. He promised himself that their killer would pay for the deed.
Throwing aside his feelings, Danny forced himself to think as a lawman and to learn all he could about the happenings of the previous night. Carefully, he studied the ground around him, using the knowledge handed on by that master trailer, the Ysabel Kid. From what he saw, there had been three cow thieves present, all occupied with their illegal business when death struck. The third member of the trio made good his escape, or at least got clear of the fire, for Danny found signs of somebody, possibly the killer, racing a horse across the clearing in the direction taken by the fleeing cow thief.
At that point of the proceedings Danny began to feel puzzled. His examination of the tracks told him that one rider had returned, set free some of the calves and led off three more. Yet the same person did not free the dead men’s horses, nor even go near the bodies.
“Sure puzzling,” he mused, turning to leave the clearing and return to his horses. “From all I’ve heard, this looks like Gooch’s work. He never takes chances and wouldn’t give those boys chance to surrender or make a fight. But why would Gooch free half the calves and take the others. And why would he leave the two bodies when they’d fetch a damned sight more bounty than three calves would bring him?”
A possible answer occurred to Danny as he reached the horses. He stood on Bench J, not Forked C land, so it was not the range Gooch had been hired to protect and the bounty hunter did not work for the love of his labor. Of course, it might not be Gooch who killed the cowhands, although everything pointed in that direction. Most men, especially ranchers and honest cowhands, hated a cow thief, but few would go to the extreme of shooting down two in cold blood. No, it appeared the thing Governor Howard and Captain Murat feared had happened. Tired of merely earning his pay, Gooch left the Forked C range to hunt bounty on other property.
Just as Danny swung into the sabino’s saddle, a distant movement caught the corner of his eye. Turning in the saddle, he looked across the range to where a trio of riders topped a rim and swung their horses in the direction of the circling turkey-vultures.
Taking out his off-side Colt, Danny thumbed three shots into the air. Instantly the trio brought their mounts to a halt, looking in his direction. Sweeping off his hat, Danny waved it over his head and the three men put their spurs to the horses, galloping toward him. Three shots fired into the air had long been accepted as a signal for help, one which would only rarely be overlooked or ignored. The three men might be as interested, as Danny had been, in the circling vultures, but his signal took priority over the sight.
Danny studied the men as they approached. Two of them were cowhands; a leathery man of middle-age, plainly dressed and with a low-hanging Dance Brothers revolver at his side; the second looked around Danny’s age, a freckle-faced, red-haired young man, cheery, wearing a flashy bandana and red shirt and belting an Army Colt in a cheap imitation of a contoured, fast-draw holster. From the two cowhands, Danny turned to study the third rider. He sat a good horse with easy grace. Although his clothes looked little different from the other two, there was something about him, an air of authority and command, which said “boss” to range-wise eyes. A Remington Beals Army revolver hung butt forward at his left side and looked like he could use it. Not that the man bore any of the signs of a swaggering, bullying gunslinger, but merely gave the impression of being mighty competent.
“You got trouble, friend?” asked the third member of the trio.
“Not me,” Danny answered. “But those two fellers down there—man, have they got trouble?”
“Two?” put in the youngest rider. “Reckon it’s Sammy and Pike, Buck?”
“Best way to find out’s to go look,” replied the third man. “Name’s Buck Jerome, friend, this’s my range. These gents are my foreman, Ed Lyle and Tommy Fayne, he rides for me.”
“Howdy. I’m Danny Forgrave. Best go down there and take a look though.”
Accompanying the men down the slope. Danny studied their reactions as they looked at the tragic scene in the clearing. He could read little from the two older men’s faces, but guessed the scene hit them hard. On the other hand, Tommy Fayne showed shock, his face paled under the tan and his lips drew into tight lines.
“It’s Sammy and Pike!” he said in a strangled voice. “That damned murdering skunk Gooch killed them.”
“Easy, boy,” Jerome said, laying a hand on Tommy’s sleeve. “We don’t know for sure it was him who did this.”
“Who else but a stinking murdering bounty hunter’d gun down two kids like Sammy and Pike without giving them a chance?” Tommy answered hotly. “They weren’t neither of ’em good with a gun, and you know it, Buck.”
“Hosses are tied, Buck, that’s why they never come back,” Lyle said quietly. “Happen this feller hadn’t found them, they might have laid here for days.”
“Might at that,” admitted the rancher and turned to Danny. “No offense, but how did you come to find them? You know how it is when you find something like this, questions have to be asked.”
“Sure,” Danny agreed. “I was headed for those buzzards when I put up a herd of pronghorns and they went down into this hollow. Only they came bursting out like the devil after a yearling. Got me curious to find out what spooked them. I figured it might be either bear, cougar or wolves and that I might be able to pick up a few dollars on its hide. So I came down and found this.”
All the time Danny spoke, he felt the other three’s eyes on him taking in every detail of his dress and appearance. Not that he had any need to fear detection on that score. Before leaving Austin, Danny dressed for the part he aimed to play. He retained his hat, boots, gunbelt and saddle, but the rest of his clothing no longer bore the mark of a good tailor. Instead he wore a cheap, gaudy bandana, a blue flannel shirt and faded, washed-out jeans. Not was there anything out of the ordinary in the arrangement. Many young cowhands bought the best they could manage in saddlery, hats and gunbelts, but took what they could afford for the rest of their clothing.
After studying Danny, Jerome and Lyle exchanged glances. Both had reached the same conclusion—and just the one Danny wanted folks to make about him. Although this soft-spoken youngster wore two guns and looked proficient in their use, he had none of the ear-marks of a proddy trigger-fast-and-up-from-Texas kid. A good cowhand, most likely, and probably one with a yen to see new ranges around him.
“If Gooch shot the boys, why’d he leave ’em here?” asked Lyle, voicing one of the problems which had been worrying Danny.
“He knew I wouldn’t pay him,” Jerome answered.
“Then why’d he bother shooting?” growled the foreman. “Gooch didn’t give a damn whether the cow thieves stole us blind as long as he got his bounty.”
“He maybe aimed to take the boys back to the Forked C and claim he downed them on Crither’s range,” guessed Jerome. “Cut for sign, Ed, see what you can learn while we start loading the boys. We’ll have to take them into town and report this to Farley Simmonds.”
“If he handles this as well as he done the rest of the stealing, we’ll sure see some action,” sniffed Lyle and went to obey his boss’s orders.
None of the men expected the task of loading the bodies to be pleasant and they were not wrong. While Lyle examined the ground, Danny, Jerome and Tommy wrapped the bodies in their slickers and loaded them, stiff with rigor mortis across the two horses’ saddles. By the time the task was completed, Lyle had made his examination and came to his boss to report.