Six Gun Justice by David Cross

him. Not for the last few days. I’ve been working out here for the last week, rounding up strays from the north shoulder of the ranch. I haven’t seen anyone in the last five or six days, mister Killman.”
    “I see you know who I am. Do you know why I’m here?” Killman asked suspiciously.
    “I figure you want a show down with Murdock. Can’t say I blame you. I’d be put out a mite, if someone tried to jump my ranch, like he done yours.”
    Where do you think he might have gone, or taken a prisoner?”
    “Mister, I got no idea. The hands on this ranch that do the work stay out of the boss’ business. He and the gun hands do things we don’t agree with, but it would be asking to get killed to interfere.”
    “I see,” Jake said, nodding to the wisdom of the man. He was about to rein his horse back along the trail, when the man said something else that got his full attention.
    “I’ve seen the gunmen riding down a trail on the north wall of the mesa, that leads to Winslow. They may be going there to drink, but it seems a long way to ride for a drink, when we got a saloon in Strawberry,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his neck with his right hand.
    He nodded again, touching the brim of his hat in a gesture of thanks and farewell. Turning his mount to the north wall, he picked up the trail that led down the escarpment from the high mesa into the valley below. The trail was precarious, but wide enough to accommodate a wagon, or coach, so he made good time navigating the steep trail.
    At the bottom, he dropped the reins of his horse and bent to the ground, looking for tracks that might give him some clue about whether he was on the right trail. He spotted a couple of newly made tracks, and a scrape on one of the stones that had been made within the last day or so, and figured he might be on to something.
    He swung back into the saddle, and continued at a walk, his eyes peering at the trail for any further signs, keeping alert to the sounds and movement around him. There were a number of tracks, but he had no way of knowing if they would lead to Sarah, or if they were from some cowboy working the arid land he had ridden into at the foot of the escarpment, or by one or more of the men that worked for Murdock. One thing he had noticed though, was that one horse was carrying a notched shoe on his right front hoof. It was on the left side of the hoof print, forming a small triangle, as though the metal had been nicked in some way to form the abnormality.
    He had progressed along the trail for about ten miles, when a group of tracks led off to the right, including the one with the triangle notch, through a brake of scrub cedars. On a hunch, he followed them, cautious to make as little sound as possible. He had no idea what he might be riding into, but he was curious to know why so many tracks led off the main trail. This had to be more than a lone cowboy, looking for strays, or just possibly, out for a ride. There were at least five men in the group, and the length of space between the tracks said that they were headed for a destination they were certain of.
    He covered the miles slowly, making sure he did not lose the trail of the men he was following. It was hard to keep his head, and not go racing along the tracks, hoping to finds his wife and the men who had obviously abducted her. He had ridden a good four miles through the cedars, which grew more sparsely as he worked his way deeper into the arid countryside. The desert wrens were twittering, flitting from one cedar to another, and a couple of roadrunners darted across the trail. But other than that, there wasn’t any movement along the cedar brake where the trail led.
    A couple of miles further along he thought he could smell smoke, which caused him to slow his horse even more, becoming more alert. There were people out here. Only humans used fire. The only animals of any size that he had run across had been one lone coyote, and he was sure he was not the one