“You say you know where the men who committed the murders in Escalon are,” Bustamante said.
“Sí,” Ortega said. “There is a reward for them, is there not?”
“A very large reward,” Bustamante answered. “But I am sure, Senor, that you are not providing the information only for the reward. You are doing it for the love of justice, are you not?”
“Sí,” Ortega replied. “I am doing it for the love of justice and my country.”
And the fact that, with the others dead, the herd of horses would be his, Ortega thought, though he dared not say the words aloud.
“What do you think happened to Ortega?” Frank asked as they were ready to break camp the next morning.
“I don’t know,” Jim replied. “He should’ve been back two or three days ago.”
“Maybe the law got him,” Gene suggested.
“Why would the law get Ortega?” Katie asked.
“When we were coming down here, we found a dodger on him,” Jim said. “He claimed it was for someone else who was also named Hector Ortega. He said that was a very common name in these parts.”
“But none of us believed him,” Barry said.
“Yeah, we all figured it was him,” Gene added.
“Jim, we’re going to need to know one way or the other if the law got him,” Frank said. “ ’Cause if he’s been caught, then we’re goin’ to have to get our own supplies. As it is, we don’t have enough to even make it back to the border, let alone all the way up to Colorado.”
“I know,” Jim said.
“If you’d like, I could ride on ahead, see what I can find out,” Frank suggested. “And if I can’t find him, I’ll buy the supplies myself.”
Jim stroked his chin. “I don’t know, Frank. That could be a little risky,” he said. “I’m not that keen on the idea of one of us separatin’ from the others.”
“Frank’s right about one thing. We’re going to have to have more supplies soon,” Katie said. “We are almost out of everything.”
“It may be risky,” Frank said. “But I figure I’m as good a choice to take the chance as anyone. You might not have noticed, but our other two pards here have sorta fell in love. And I reckon you’re a mite interested in Miz Katie yourself. That leaves me as the only one unattached, so to speak.”
“Frank, listen. We didn’t plan on nothin’ like this,” Gene started.
But Frank chuckled, and held up his hand to interrupt him. “Don’t you boys be worryin’ none about me,” he said. “I’m fine with the idea. Truth to tell, I’m not ready to settle down with any one woman yet. I kinda like the sportin’ girls that you find in the saloons. Uh, no offense meant to you and your daughters, Miz Katie.”
Katie laughed. “No offense taken, Frank.”
“So what about it, Jim? Shall I go on ahead this morning and see what I can find out about Ortega? Or do you want me to just forget about Ortega and get some supplies?”
Jim sighed. “One of us should go on ahead and find out what’s going on,” he said. “But I think I’m the one who should go.”
“Why you and not me?” Frank asked.
“Because like it or not, I’ve taken on the role of leadin’ this band of ragtag cowboys,” Jim answered. “And I wouldn’t be much of a leader if I sent someone else out to do what I should do myself.”
“Jim, you’re the leader, that’s true,” Katie said. “So don’t you think your job should be here, with us?”
Jim shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he answered. “And you don’t, either. You just want me here because you’re worryin’ about me.”
“Perhaps I am worrying about you. Is that so bad?” Katie asked.
Jim smiled. “No, ma’am. I don’t reckon there’s anything at all bad about that. I sorta like someone worryin’ about me. But this is somethin’ I’ve got to do.”
“But why . . . ?” Katie started.
“Don’t try to stop him, Miz Katie,” Frank said. “I’d rather go myself, but I know what Jim is talking about. If he stayed back now and let me go, he’d never feel right about it—especially if anything happened to me.”
“Frank understands,” Jim said. “I hope you do, too.”
Katie nodded silently. Then she said, “Please promise me to be careful.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Jim said. “I intend to be extra careful. I like the way things are turnin’ out between us.”
It was late afternoon and Jim was several miles ahead of the trail outfit when the shot sounded. The crack of the rifle and the deadly whine of lead searing the air reached Jim’s ears simultaneously. Only luck saved him. He had hunched forward in the saddle for a moment to adjust his rump just as the shot was fired. The bullet whizzed right by where his head had been an instant before.
Jim saw a puff of white smoke hanging in the air two hundred yards away. Flattening against his horse, he kicked it into a gallop and rode in a zigzag pattern toward the knoll below the little cloud of smoke. He drew his pistol and pointed it at the drifting white puff. If so much as a hair showed above the crest, he would blast it. He covered the two hundred yards in about fifteen seconds, charged around the knoll, then jumped from the saddle and rolled on the ground toward the cover of a nearby rock.
There was no one there.
Jim lay behind the rock for a long moment until he was absolutely sure he was alone. Then he moved cautiously over to where his attacker had waited in ambush. On the ground was the spent cartridge of a .44-40 jacked out of a Winchester by the assailant after firing. There were horse tracks nearby, and when Jim examined them, he was shocked to recognize the bar-tie shoe tracks of Ortega’s horse.
The man who had shot at him was Ortega! But why?
“Well, Senor Ortega, I don’t know what kind of a burr you got in your saddle,” Jim said aloud, “but I reckon I’m just the man to take it out.”
Jim swung back onto his horse and began following Ortega’s tracks. The Mexican knew he was being tracked, and he did everything he could to throw Jim off. He rode across solid rock; he tied brush to his horse’s tail to drag out tracks; he cut and recut his own trail. But, grim-faced, and determined, Jim hung on doggedly.
As he trailed Ortega, he wondered why Ortega had turned on them. Two possibilities came to mind. One was that, now that the horses were broken, Ortega might want to take over the herd for himself. The other possibility was that Ortega wanted the women, not for himself, but to sell to the bandidos. He knew that such an option wouldn’t be unthinkable for a man like Ortega.
Jim trailed Ortega for the rest of the afternoon, until darkness fell. That night, he saw a campfire on the trail ahead of him. He was pretty sure it was a false campfire, set by the Mexican in hope of luring Jim into the camp. So Jim moved cautiously through the night until he reached Ortega’s fire. Looking around carefully, he saw that he had been right. Ortega hadn’t camped at that spot and had no intention of camping there.
Jim continued until he came to a range of steep, rocky hills. He was certain Ortega wouldn’t try to navigate through there in the dark, and even if he did, Jim wouldn’t be able to follow his tracks. He decided that there was nothing he could do but stop and wait for the light of day.
From the position of the stars, Jim supposed that it was about two o’clock in the morning. He had been sleeping lightly when something woke him up. He lay quietly for a few minutes, listening to the sounds in the night. Wind sighed through the dry limbs of a nearby mesquite tree, his horse whickered, but everything else was silent. Still, Jim sensed something amiss.
Quietly, Jim rolled up his poncho, then stuck it under his blanket. That done, he crawled over to a small depression, slipped down into it, and looked back at his bedroll. From his position, it looked like someone was still in the blankets.