“I’m just following a trail, like you.”
“I’ve got a hunch you’re telling the truth.” Boyd silenced Lowry’s protest with a look before the segundo could even say anything. “Pete, give ’em back their guns.”
“Boss, that’s a mistake—” Lowry began.
“If it is, it’s my mistake to make!” Boyd said. “I still give the orders in this bunch.”
Lowry nodded.
“I never said you didn’t, John Henry.” With obvious reluctance, he turned in the saddle and motioned to the men who had taken charge of the weapons belonging to Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur. “Give ’em back their guns.”
Sam felt a little better once the familiar weight of the Colt was back in its holster, the Winchester was in the saddleboot under his left thigh, and his bowie knife was nestled in its sheath on his left hip. He knew the situation was still full of risk, but at least now he could fight if he had to.
“Let’s go,” Boyd said once the three men were armed again. The rancher added, “But just in case you’re trying to double-cross us, we’ll still be keeping a close eye on you and your friends, Two Wolves.”
“No double cross,” Sam said. “We’re on the same side.”
Lowry snorted.
“If that’s true, it’s the first time I’ve ever been on the same side as a damn redskin.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Sam told him with a smile. He didn’t have to like Lowry—that seemed pretty unlikely—but they might soon be fighting side by side, so it was a good idea if they could trust each other.
Several rugged mesas loomed between the riders and the hills. They would have to weave among those mesas to reach their destination, unless they went around and risked losing the trail ... because it appeared that the stolen herd had been driven through those big, flat-topped formations.
Sam cast occasional glances toward the tops of the mesas as the group started into the forest of rock. This would be a good spot for an ambush, he thought. Riflemen hidden atop one of those mesas would have a good vantage point.
But the sides of most of the formations appeared to be sheer. Men might be able to climb some of them, but it would be difficult.
Knowing that didn’t stop Sam from worrying. He had survived more than one bushwhack attempt already in the past eight or nine days. It might be pushing his luck to live through another.
“Where in blazes did the tracks go?” Lowry suddenly asked.
Sam studied the ground, then looked over at Stovepipe, who nodded.
“They’re gone, all right,” the range detective said. “Maybe we can pick ’em up on the other side of these mesas.”
“Let’s have a look,” Boyd said. “Those cows had to go somewhere.”
But when they emerged from the cluster of rock formations, half an hour of searching turned up no sign that the cattle had come this way, even to the keen eyes of Sam and Stovepipe.
“That’s just loco!” Wilbur said. “They went in there. They had to come out somewhere!”
“Maybe they doubled back and come out on the same side they went on,” Stovepipe suggested. “Might be a good idea if we was to split up, Mr. Boyd, and make a circle around the whole place.”
“Don’t let them talk you into that, John Henry,” Lowry warned. “If they split us up, it’ll be easier for somebody to jump us.”
Stovepipe frowned.
“All that mistrust is gettin’ a mite annoyin’,” he said.
“I’m not splitting my men,” Boyd decided. “But we’ll circle around these mesas like you said, Stewart. That sounds like a good idea to me. Your friend’s right about one thing ... Those cows have to be somewhere.”
With Sam and Stovepipe leading the way, watched hawkishly by Lowry, the group started around the area dotted with mesas. It was pretty extensive, so circling it took more than an hour.
They found the place where they had followed the tracks among the mesas, but that was all. By the time they got back to where they had started on the far side, Sam had to admit that something odd had happened.
The rustled cattle had gone in there, but they hadn’t come out.
“There’s only one answer,” he said.
“Yeah, I agree,” Stovepipe said.
“What are you talking about?” Boyd asked.
Stovepipe pointed at the sky with a thumb. Sam nodded in agreement with him.
“What the hell!” Lowry exploded. “You’re sayin’ those cows sprouted wings and
“We just need to look harder,” Sam said. “We missed something.”
Lowry snorted to show how much stock he put in that.
The tops of some of the mesas were probably a square mile in area, Sam thought, maybe even a little more than that. There might be enough grass growing on one of those to support a small herd of fifty head, plus the horses of the rustlers who had stolen them.
