Twisted Trails by Orlando Rigoni

didn't stay with the trail. There were gullies there, cutbacks that could hide and protect a man. If the killer found him following a trail, he might make another, successful attempt to kill him. He felt the weight of Big-head's purse in his pocket. He had forgotten he had it until now. He took it out and, opening it, counted the five gold pieces it contained.
    The price of a life, he thought, my life. This could be but a down payment. A bought killer is a continual menace. He can go on bleeding his buyer for life in payment for silence. Gladys had testified that Big-head had run down the stairs and through the saloon. The man who had paid him to do murder could have seen him and realized suddenly that Big-head might be forced to talk. Therefore the man must have followed Big-head and killed him. But the tracks of the Indian pony clouded the issue. There had been drunken Indians last night.
    Paul saw the ranch just ahead of him, and as he rode into the yard, he looked about eagerly, hoping Norah would be there. Then he saw that the buggy was gone. So Norah had gone with Finch again, even after declaring her love. Had Finch's reiteration of the charges against him made her regret her declaration?
    Paul went into the barn and saddled his own horse. Then he went to the bunkhouse to roll up his blankets. He stopped in the middle of the floor, a perplexed frown furrowing his forehead. Five gold coins lay yellow and gleaming on Eglund's bunk. How had they come there? Why? Had they been put there in plain sight as a warning to him?
    Paul picked up a sack of makings from the shelf over his bunk and stuffed them into his pocket. Not until then did he remember the note Major Hornaby had scribbled and handed him during the kangaroo court trial. Now he pulled out the note, and read:

    I'll be in back of the stables tonight after retreat. We'll see how well you can use your hands then
.

    Paul's lips formed a tight, straight line. Another fight. How many more fights would it take before they let him alone? He tore the note up into little pieces and threw them out the window. Then he picked up his blanket roll and went outside. The house was quiet. He supposed Helen was napping, and he didn't much care to face her just then. Fastening his bedroll to his saddle, he mounted his horse and, leading the army horse, headed for the trading post.
    The low-ceilinged trading post smelled of bacon and hides, coffee and spices. Flour made a white pyramid in the middle of the floor. There were beans in an open sack, and brown, raw sugar. Smoked meat hung from hooks suspended from the ceiling, and on one side, in back of a plank counter, there was a gaudy array of cloth. Paul found Uriah working over his ledger at a high counter in the rear.
    "What's the trouble, son?" Uriah asked, looking over the glasses he wore only for accounting.
    "Uriah," Paul began slowly, feeling for words, "I've had nothing but trouble since I got here."
    "I wouldn't say that. What trouble you did have, you handled right smart. If you think you'd rather take a ridin' job, back in the hills—"
    "No, it isn't that. I can't leave here, because if I did Finch would get away from me again. I spent too much time hunting for him to let him slip out now. It can't take much more time for the marshal to arrive with the warrant I sent for. Reckon I'll make out all right."
    "Did Norah give you the letter that came in the mail yesterday?" Uriah asked.
    Paul thought he had not heard right. "What did you say?"
    "I said, did Norah give you the letter that came in the mail for you?"
    "A letter? She didn't mention it. Are you sure she had it?"
    Paul saw a curious expression come over Uriah's face.
    "I gave it to her. She put it in the pocket of her jacket. I reckon she must've forgot to give it to you. Don't make much sense, though. With mail as scarce as it is, ain't likely anybody would forget a letter."
    "That shot frightened her," Paul said, trying to find an explanation. He was disturbed,