Frank nodded. “It would probably be a good idea. That smoke’s likely coming from some trapper’s cabin. He might have seen Palmer go by. It would be nice to have some proof that we’re on the right trail.”
“We’re on the right trail,” Salty insisted. “I can feel it in my bones.”
Frank didn’t want to dispute what Salty’s bones said, at least not to the old-timer’s face, but some actual evidence would be welcome. If whoever was responsible for that smoke had seen Palmer, he could tell them how far ahead of them the fugitive was.
They heeled their horses into motion again. The pack mules plodded along behind at the end of ropes tied to Frank’s and Salty’s saddles.
The smoke led them to a long meadow with a shallow stream running along one side of it. At the far end of the meadow and on the other side of the stream, between the water and the trees, sat a log cabin. The smoke rose from a stone chimney built onto one side of the cabin.
Frank lifted a hand to stop the others. He leaned forward a little in the saddle, easing his muscles as he studied the cabin. He saw a pole corral and a lean-to shed behind it, but no horses were in there. In fact, he didn’t see any movement anywhere around the cabin.
The smoke rising from the chimney was the only sign of life.
“What are we waiting for?” Meg asked.
“It’s not a good idea to just go riding up to somebody’s place without taking a look around first,” Frank explained. “You don’t want to pay a visit unannounced, either. People can get spooked easy, especially out in the middle of nowhere like this.”
“I understand,” she said. “Do you think a trapper lives here?”
“That’s what it looks like to me.”
“Maybe the fella ain’t home,” Salty suggested. “I see his horses are gone.”
Frank rubbed his jaw and frowned. “Yeah, maybe. But would he go off and leave a fire burning in the fireplace?”
“There ain’t no tellin’ what some folks’ll do. Not ever’body’s been to see the elephant like you and me have, Frank.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Frank said with a shrug. “Let’s go.”
He hitched his horse into motion again, riding slowly forward along the creek. When he came to a likely looking spot where the stream flowed shallowly over its rocky bed, he sent his mount into the water. This was as good a place to ford the creek as any. Salty and Meg followed.
The closer they got to the cabin, the more Frank felt the skin on the back of his neck prickling. Over the long, dangerous years, he had learned to put complete faith in his instincts, and now those instincts were warning him that something wasn’t quite right here.
An instant later, that hunch was confirmed as the barrel of a rifle suddenly thrust out from a window and gushed flame and smoke.
Chapter 6
Frank was in the lead, so he saw the rifle first. He reacted instantly, yanking his horse’s head to the side and calling, “Follow me!” to Salty and Meg, at the same time as the shot blasted out from the window.
The bullet came close enough that Frank heard its high-pitched whine. He galloped toward the trees. It wouldn’t do any good to cross back over the creek. There was no cover over there in the open meadow.
A glance over his shoulder told him that Salty and Meg were close behind him. He was relieved to see that neither of them appeared to be wounded.
The whip crack of another rifle shot came to his ears, over the pounding of hooves. Then he reached the trees and sent the horse plunging into the thick growth. He pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot as he hauled the animal to a stop and dropped from the saddle.
Salty and Meg were close by, shielded by the tree trunks as well. As they dismounted, Frank called over to them, “Either of you hit?”
“Nope,” Salty said. “Not me.”
“I’m fine, too,” Meg said. “How about you, Frank?”
“That first shot was a mite close, but it didn’t get me,” he told them without taking his eyes off the cabin. “Meg, hold the horses. Salty, get your rifle.”
The old-timer worked the lever of the Winchester in his hands. “Already got it,” he said. “Let’s pour some lead into that shack.”
“Hold your fire,” Frank ordered. “We can’t just start blazing away without knowing who we’re shooting at or why.”
“We may not know who, but I dang sure know why!” Salty responded. “Because the son of a buck shot at us!”
“Maybe he thought he had good cause.”
“Maybe,” Salty allowed as he crouched behind the thick trunk of a pine. “That don’t mean I aim to let him get away with tryin’ to kill us. Dagnab it, Frank, that could be Palmer his own self in there!”
“It could be,” Frank said. “Why don’t we try to find out?”
No more shots had come from the cabin after the second one. Frank eased forward to the edge of the trees. He couldn’t see the rifle anymore. Whoever was using it had pulled it back inside the window.
