Suddenly, Finn saw the man. He had come out of the gully and was snaking along the ground, keeping low in the grass, still handling his rifle with utmost care. When the man reached the top of a low knoll, his position would be excellent.
Only then did Mahone realize how carefully this had been planned. The way to the knoll was completely covered from observation from anywhere but this bluff. The man could never have been seen from the ranch.
The Sharps rifle, known to kill at distances up to a thousand yards, had occasionally been effective at even greater distances, as Billy Dixon had proved at the Battle of Adobe Wells. It used the most powerful black powder cartridges ever made, and fired up to 550 grains of lead with terrific force and remarkable accuracy.
With the distance deliberately paced off, probably late at night when all were asleep, the unknown marksman would know exactly how much his bullet would drop, and now the finely machined sight was set for precisely that range. One shot would be all he'd get at a target like Dowd, but as Finn correctly surmised, the man had no intention of firing more than one shot.
Mahone lost him, then found him again, and when he next sighted him he was on the crest of the knoll and settling into position. Finn eased his own rifle up, and waited.
There was little movement around the Lazy K. Occasionally someone appeared, then vanished. The man below lay perfectly still. Had Finn not known he was there, he could never have picked him out on the grassy, boulder-strewn knoll.
Then the ranch house door opened, and Finn lifted his head. Remy was walking down to the corrals. A hand led her white mare out, and the girl swung into the saddle and galloped away over the plains, riding west.
Finn's eyes followed her. How beautifully she rode! He had never seen a woman ride with such grace. Angry with himself, he wrenched his eyes away.
A man had come from the ranch house and was walking down to the corral. He wore an old black hat, but even at that distance Finn could recognize the straight carriage, the easy movement of the shoulders. Texas Dowd was a man difficult to forget and easy to pick out.
Mahone's eyes dropped. The man below was waiting for some particular thing, Finn could see that. All men are creatures of habit to some extent, and the marksman KUSTLER KOUNDUP / IO had evidently studied Dowd until he knew his every move.
No one else was in sight. The cowhand who led out Remy's horse had vanished, and the ranch lay hot in the glare of the sun. Dowd led out his horse and tied it to a rail of the corral fence. Then he brought out the saddle, and threw it on the horse's back. Dowd was standing with his back squarely to the sharpshooter now, but the man waited. Then, slowly he eased his rifle up and Finn, even at this distance, could almost see the man settling his cheek against the stock ready for his shot.
Finn lifted his rifle and triggered three fast shots at the figure below. Even as he fired, he heard the big rifle boom from the knoll, but his first shot must have come close, for the rifleman threw himself to one side.
Finn got a hasty glimpse of Dowd's horse rearing, but already his eyes were searching the grass below for the killer. The man had vanished as if he had dropped into the earth itself!
Riveting his eyes on the grass, Finn began to search it with infinite care, taking it section by section, but he could see nothing of the man. He suddenly realized this was no place for him. If Dowd was to find him here he would be sure it was Finn who had fired, and the sharpshooter was certainly making his getaway.
Scrambling through the brush, he started back to the -horses. Somehow in his rush he took a wrong turn, and though delayed only a minute or two longer than he had expected, he reached the horses just as the marksman appeared. The fellow rushed to the horses and jerked at the slip knot. It stuck, and then Finn said, 'All right, turn around and throw up your hands!'
Mexie Roberts wheeled like a cornered rat and his hand flashed for his pistol. Finn's rifle blasted and Roberts staggered back, coughing, his eyes wide and staring.
He blinked once, very slowly, then sat down and rolled over, drawing his knees up tightly, and died.
Mahone wheeled and raced for his horse. Then he was in the saddle and heading down range as fast as he could ride. He had no desire to see Dowd now. The Texan would see what had happened from the tracks.
Meanwhile, there was business in town. If Sonntag was there, and looking for him, he could find him. Laird, he felt, was the center of things. Knowing as little as he did about all the people there, Finn had only a few ideas. He intended to learn what he could, and there were two sources on which he could rely: Lettie Mason and Otis.
Remy Kastelle, riding west, heard the sharp cracking report of the Winchester, followed by the heavy boom of the Sharps, then the Winchester twice again. She wheeled her horse and started back on a dead run. She was just reaching the ranch house when she saw Texas Dowd, gun in hand, leave the ranch at a gallop.
Swinging alongside she disregarded his motions to stay back, and rode on. Suddenly, he seemed to sight something in the grass, and wheeled, riding over to the knoll. He swung down from the horse and picked it up. It was Roberts's Sharps rifle.
He looked up at the girl, then removed his hat. The Sharps had torn a ragged gash in the brim. 'Somebody shot at him,' Dowd said, 'or he'd a had me sure! I heard that first shot and jerked. This came next.'
The grass was pressed down where Mexie had crushed it in his retreat. The route by which he had approached was not the return route. Mexie had been too cagey for that. Yet his return had been a flight, and Dowd followed, riding his horse until he came to the two horses and Roberts's body.
KUSTLER KOUNDUP / iVO
He rolled the man over, and Remy drew back, her face pale. 'Who ... who is it?' she asked.
'I've seen him around. Name of Roberts. Shot twice, right through the heart.' He looked up at her. His face was bleak and hard. 'Not many men shoot like that!'
Texas stepped over the body and looked at the knot. 'No hombre expectin' to leave in a hurry ever tied a horse like that!' he said. 'Whoever shot him knew these horses were here. He tied that knot so if he was slow getting' back, this hombre wouldn't get away!'
Carefully, Dowd went through his pockets. There was some ninety dollars in bills. One, a twenty, was pasted together with a piece of pink paper. Dowd put them in his shirt pocket. Scouting around, he found the bush where the black stallion had been tied. His face stiffened as he looked. Then he lifted his eyes to the girl. 'It's him, damn his soul!' he said bitterly.
'Who?'
'Finn Mahone! He seen this hombre cat-footin' around the hills. He followed him, an' when he saw what he was up to, he scared him out of there. Then he got back here, an' this hombre tried to shoot it out with him.'
'Finn Mahone!' Remy stared at Dowd. 'Then he saved your life, Tex!'
'Yeah.' Tex stared at the tracks of the big horse. 'That's the third time!'
'Tex,' Remy said quickly, 'what's between you and Mahone?'
Texas Dowd raised his eyes and looked at her. 'He murdered my sister,' he said coldly.
Chapter 5
Dan Taggart loped his sorrel pony toward the Mclnnis ranch. At the time Mexie Roberts was lying in wait for his shot at Dowd, Taggart had been inspecting cattle far to the south.
Taggart was a man of nearly forty who looked ten years older. Rarely clean shaven, he was grim, hard, and loyal. He was one of those riders who were the backbone of the cattle business. When he rode, he rode, in the parlance of the cattle country, 'for the brand.' In other words, his loyalty was not a thing to be taken lightly.
He was a man without imagination. Hardworking, ready to fight if need be, never hesitating at long hours or miserable conditions. Abe Mclnnis, who knew a good man when he saw one, had made Taggart foreman. It was the first position of responsibility Dan Taggart had ever held. He took it seriously, and he did more work than any two of his cowhands.
That day he had seen a heifer with a fresh brand. He got a loop on her, and inspected the brand. It was P Slash L, the Logan brand. There was nothing surprising about it, as the cattle of the two ranches grazed the same land in this area, and had done so without question for some time.
Nick James, who had formerly ridden for Mclnnis, saw Taggart pull down the heifer and rode over. He grinned at the older man. 'Figger we're rustlin', Dan?'
'Nope.' Taggart released the heifer and got up. 'Just havin' a look. That Kastelle girl said something' the other day. Bothers me some.'
