Only 06 - Winter Fire

saddlebag full of “Wanted Dead or Alive” posters.
    Ab would see him as a gunhand hired in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains by the recently deceased Gaylord Culpepper. The Culpeppers had tried to get a good hideout the easy way—an outright grab of the B Bar and Ladder S ranches from their legal owners.
    The grab had failed, but it had been touch and go for a while.
    What Case didn’t know was whether anyone had figured out that he had been working against the Culpeppers in Nevada.
    If Ab knew, he would shoot Case on sight.
    Only one way to find out , he decided.
    Absently he drew his six-gun, spun the cylinder to check the load once more, holstered the gun, and secured the revolver with a rawhide thong. He pulled a second cylinder from his jacket pocket, saw that it was fully loaded, and put it away once more.
    It would be nice to have Hunter at my back when I ride down there , he thought.
    Then he thought of Elyssa, who loved Hunter as few men were ever privileged to be loved by a woman.
    Better for Hunter to stay in the Rubys. If I don’t come back, no woman will hang crêpe and no kids will go hungry .
    He mounted Cricket with the same economy of movement that he did everything. Until people saw Case standing next to other men, his size wasn’t noticeable. He was just another quiet, easy-moving man who was thoroughly at home on a horse.
    As always, he inspected the enemy territory close up inaddition to his earlier study at a distance. He chose a path down the long rise that would circle the settlement.
    He wasn’t particularly expecting guards or an ambush. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have surprised him. Spanish Church was no place for choirboys.
    The first man he saw was facedown near a huge clump of rabbit brush. He was either dead drunk or dead, period. It was hard to say from a hundred feet away, and that was as close as Case planned on coming.
    Cricket cocked an ear in the man’s direction, snorted, and chose a wide path around him.
    â€œDon’t blame you, boy,” Case said. “I’ve smelled sweeter skunks left out in the sun to dry.”
    Before he went into the saloon, he reined Cricket in a circle around the other grazing animals, checking brands.
    Circle A. Rocking M.
    He recognized the brands instantly. Both were from ranches that were close to Sarah Kennedy’s home. Not very close, however. Calling them neighbors would be stretching the truth thin enough to read newsprint through.
    The owners of the Circle A and Rocking M had settled in the water-rich high country. It was a hard two days’ ride from the stone desert where Hal Kennedy had staked his claim.
    The remaining horses wore brands that were either botched too badly to read or had been deliberately doctored to change the original brand.
    The mules’ shiny sorrel hides weren’t branded at all.
    There were three more horses back up a shady draw, standing three-legged and swatting flies with their long tails. One horse was saddled. The others wore packs full of supplies. The packs were tied off with neat diamond hitches.
    The horses were mustangs, but they had good clean legs, reasonably deep chests, and muscular rumps. Though obviously well cared for, the animals weren’t shod. They didn’t need to be. Any mustang that got sore feet fromrunning over stony ground didn’t last long enough to grow up in the first place.
    Pick of the litter , Case thought, looking at the three mustangs. Somebody around here knows horseflesh .
    When he went closer, he saw that all of the mustangs wore the same brand: S-C.
    S-C Connected , he thought. Sarah Kennedy’s brand .
    Wonder if she knows that three of her horses have wandered off to this outlaw’s nest?
    When he closed in on the three horses, he saw that there was a small seep at the head of the ravine. There had been enough rain in autumn and early winter so that the seep was running even after summer’s natural drought.
    Though the hooves of the other horses had cut deeply into the red soil around the seep, the water was still clear. He let Cricket drink, but not enough to make the stallion logy if they had to leave the settlement at a hard run.
    â€œSorry, boy,” he said as he reined Cricket away from the water. “You’re going to stay on duty for a time.”
    True to his word, Case left the saddle cinched up tight when he tied Cricket to a bush on the sunny side of the “church.” The spot