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came to a place where
they split up yet again. It looked as though someone had met this second group
and had taken the cattle and horses off with them.
    They
had set this up good. Already they had unloaded most of the stolen stock, but
to whom? It irked him that he didn't have time to follow that trail and find
out. It could lead to whoever had been behind a rash of cattle thefts over the
past several months. Again he thought about Jim Caldwell, but just like Ken had
said, it seemed preposterous that such a man would be involved in something
like rustling. For now, there was no hope of finding out. By the time he was
able to follow, those tracks would be washed or blown away. It was more
important now to find Tess Carey, and the only way to do that was to stick with
the original tracks, which had gone on south. That was the direction, he was
sure, they would take the woman— to Mexico.
    So
far this second set of tracks had not met up with the original group, but he
was betting they would. He was angry with himself for not following the tracks
of the first group after they split up. Now if he could just catch up with this
second bunch, maybe he could get some valuable information that would help him
rescue the woman; and if he could keep them apart, that meant fewer men to
contend with once he did reach the woman.
    He
waited, making sure from which direction the voices came, then untied his horse
and remounted and kicked his horse into a gentle lope. He had to keep this a
surprise. If he rode too hard, someone up ahead might feel the approaching
hooves. Comanche could see and feel and smell man or horse for miles sometimes;
but, by God, so could he, and that was how he usually managed to outsmart them.
    He
realized he enjoyed the challenge. Maybe it was the warrior blood that flowed
in his veins. After all, his grandmother was sister to Red Eagle, a respected
and often feared Lakota warrior. And a true warrior liked nothing better than
to prove himself in battle. He supposed if he'd been raised among the Sioux, he
would be riding with them right now against the thousands of soldiers who'd
been sent West to "clean up" those who still refused to go live on
reservations. He supposed he ought to go try to find some of his relatives, but
he was far removed from that world. Texas was mostly all he'd known since he
was fourteen and had fled here from Missouri with his mother after killing the
man who'd tried to rape her.
    God
knew there sure weren't any Sioux in Texas, just Comanche and Apache, and it
was hard to tell which was the meanest. He went another mile or so, then
dismounted again, taking his canteen from the saddle horn and removing his hat.
"I promise you, boy, that I'll find you some good stream water soon as I'm
finished with what I have to do." He poured some water into his hat and
held it out for his horse to drink. This was miserable country for man and
animal alike. The only things that really belonged out here were the snakes and
lizards. "Won't be long now, boy." He thought how easily a man could
go crazy in these parts if he didn't at least have his horse to talk to. He
took a glance behind him, wondering if Ken intended to try to follow him. It
wouldn't surprise him any.
    He
poured a little water on top of his head, then took a short swallow and
recapped the canteen and hooked it back on his gear. He led his horse to a
sorry-looking mesquite tree, the only thing that might give the animal a little
shade. There was some scrubby grass underneath, certainly not enough to feed a
horse for even part of a day, but it would have to do. He would simply have to
get this done with as fast as possible. No warning. No mercy.
    He
tied his horse, using a rope instead of the reins so the animal would have
freedom to move around. He took an ammunition belt from where it hung around
his saddle horn and slung it around his shoulder, then did the same with a
second ammunition belt, so that they draped crosswise over his chest. A