Bohanin's Last Days by Randy D. Smith

into the dusty street and watched the pair ride out of town. He thought of the woman. He considered sending a message to the sheriff in Springfield and advising him of his suspicions. Springfield was out of his jurisdiction and he had no proof that anything unusual was going on. For all he knew, Tibbs and Bohanin were simply going for a ride.
    Creek Witter smiled and stepped back into his office. Whatever happened was someone else’s problem.

Chapter XII
    I
    A sudden flash of light at the far bend of a deep arroyo caused Bohanin to hold up his roan. The arroyo before them was more like a canyon, the trail twisting along the edge between a stark wall and a dry channel. It was a perfect place for an ambush, especially once a man was deep into the twisting canyon.
    Bohanin crossed his right leg over the horn of his saddle and pulled a sack of California Gold smoking tobacco from his shirt. He rolled his cigarette in silence and offered the makings to Tibbs.
    â€œNever smoked this brand before,” Tibbs said.
    â€œA fellow named Dawdrey Lance got me hooked on them. I think they’re all right,” Bohanin said as he eyed the edge of the deep arroyo.
    â€œLance was a friend of Tim Stevens. They were about the same age,” Tibbs said.
    â€œHe’s a good kid. Thought I’d see if he was interested in joining us on our little venture. Might be nice to have another gun or two if we could muster them,” Bohanin said, his eyes still scanning the arroyo.
    â€œThat might be all right.”
    Another flash reflected from the same position along the far rim.
    â€œGood place for an ambush,” Bohanin said as he fished his telescope from his saddlebag.
    Tibbs lit his cigarette and placed Bohanin’s makings in his own shirt pocket. “Yep, none better on this whole stretch of trail. You thinking those flashes came from a rifleman?”
    â€œYou saw them too?” Bohanin asked as he scanned the rim of the arroyo.
    â€œYep.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you say something?”
    â€œThought I’d see just how good a scout you were, Bohanin. Don’t worry, I’d a said something if you hadn’t stopped.”
    Bohanin placed the glass in the saddlebag. “That’s good to know, Joe. What did you do with my smokes?”
    Tibbs smiled and fished the makings from his pocket. “Don’t get easily distracted either, do you, Captain?”
    Bohanin puffed on his cigarette and studied the arroyo.
    â€œDid you see anything?” Tibbs asked.
    â€œNope. Didn’t see a thing,” Bohanin said still gazing along the wall.
    â€œI sure would hate to get down there and find out you missed him.”
    â€œMe too. Cause I’ll tell you one thing. There’s a rifle on us right now and that hombre’s just a waiting for us to ride into his range.”
    â€œI thought you said you didn’t see a thing.” Tibbs said.
    Bohanin finished his cigarette and assumed a proper riding position in the saddle. “I didn’t. But he’s up there, just a waiting. He figures we’ll finish our smoke and come right into his sights.”
    â€œA plotting and a scheming. Probably checking his sights right now, I reckon,” Tibbs said.
    â€œYep.”
    Tibbs dismounted and checked the left foreleg of his pinto. “I’d sure hate to let him have the first shot. He might just wing one of us,” he said.
    â€œYou know, I’ll bet if you went hell-bent-for-election up the side of this slope while I swung down into that dry channel to draw his fire, we might just get that guy in a cross fire before he could figure what we were doing.”
    Tibbs studied the slope. It was steep but not too bad.
    â€œIf you could draw his fire. Otherwise, he’d have a mighty good shot at me before I could top the rim.”
    Bohanin nodded as he pulled his Winchester. “If I break first for the wash, I figure he’ll pour it on me. By the time he