Layfield brought up the packhorse and helped load Royce’s Doe. He was stoic when he looped a rope over the Doe’s neck then under the horse’s belly. It was Layfield’s reaction Royce was watching. The man was plainly puzzled over Ferguson. Meaning Ferguson was not acting normal.
Royce picked up the Buck’s trail. Leading the chestnut gilding he climbed to the mountain’s summit and started down the other side. It was then Royce realized what was puzzling the back of his mind. Earlier when Ferguson had stepped to the ground he had not held a rifle in his hand. The man had not intended to shoot the Buck. Royce stopped and looked back at Layfield. The man was crouched down looking over the trail. Royce placed his boot over the Buck’s hoof print obliterating the sign. He walked on and did the same to the next print he found. “I don’t find any sign of him,” Royce called across to Layfield.
Layfield sauntered towards Royce keeping his head lowered, eyes watching the ground. “He was moving fast,” Layfield said coming to a halt in front of Royce. “His leaps took him out of sight before I had time to think. You find anything,” he yelled back to Ferguson.
“You Jaspers couldn’t find the side of a mountain if it fell on you,” Ferguson growled. It was the longest speech Royce had heard from Ferguson. There was something familiar about his voice. “I want that Buck!”
Royce moved down the side of the mountain leading his horse. Stopping at intervals to check the ground for prints. Was Ferguson testing him. Trying to discover just how good a tracker he really was. Royce felt the man watching him and an icy chill slid over him. “I am not much of a tracker,” he said a few minutes later. “I do alright when the trail is clear,” he shook his head sadly. “On a trail like this I might as well admit my short comings.”
Ferguson let out a string of curses the like Royce had never heard before. The man slipped off his horse and stumbled down the side of the mountain. He stood above Royce on the hillside so their eyes met. Royce let the man’s words wash over him giving Ferguson a quizzical look. “You sure know a lot of swear words,” Royce declared. He heard Layfield gulp back a laugh. “You mind repeating that in plain English so I can understand.”
Royce thought Ferguson was going to explode. His face turned every shade of purple known to man. His blue eyes bulged out of their sockets. Spittle foamed on his lips. Royce expected the man to jump up and down in rage. What he did was grab Royce by the front of his shirt. Royce managed to keep control over his taut nerves and not react. This unbalanced the man. He had expected Royce to react violently. Instead of just staring at him trying to figure out what was happening.
Ferguson let go, stumbled across the ground and swung back onto the saddle. He headed down hill muttering to himself.
“What was that all about,” Royce said when Layfield joined him. “Is the man right in the head?”
“You are lucky,” Layfield said. “I’ve seen Ferguson kill on less provocation.”
“Now, why would he do that,” Royce replied.
Layfield shook his head. If Hargadon did not know he could not explain it to him. “Just stay away from him,” Layfield advised.
“You won’t have to tell me twice. My mother did not raise any fools,” Royce retorted.
Hunting with Layfield and Ferguson was an eye opener. Royce deciding his time had been well spent. Nothing either man said convinced him they were part of the Barlow Gang. But he knew. A lawman’s instinct. Now all he had to do was watch and wait. Find out with whom the two men associated.
Chapter Seven
Royce lay in bed wondering what had disturbed his sleep. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed he pulled on his discarded jeans and padded barefoot across the floor. A half moon shone outside the window casting shadows along the road. Not a single lighted window penetrated the darkness. Nor did a dog bark. The town lay peacefully in silence.
Walking to the other side of the room Royce stood before a curtain less window and peered out. He could see Miss Ferguson’s house on the hill behind the Elementary School. The windows were all dark. When Royce was about to turn away, he saw the corral gate swing open. A moment later a man stepped out of the shadows and walked across the yard. By the way he moved Royce knew it was not Milton Ferguson. Ferguson walked hunched over with his arms swinging freely. This man walked erect with widely spaced steps. Stopping before he reached the front porch the man looked towards the Secondary School as if he guessed he was being watched. Royce knew this was impossible. Instinct, he wondered. Instinct of the hunter or was it the hunted.
As the man stood looking towards the school moonlight reflected off his face. Royce would swear it was Milton Ferguson’s face he saw. Did Miss Ferguson have two brothers or was Milton Ferguson playing a deceptive game. Pretending to be hunched back and addle headed. If that was the case the man could very well be Barlow. Not slouched over Ferguson fit what little was known about the outlaw, medium height with blue eyes and mean as a sack of rattlesnakes. Barlow enjoyed killing.
Royce waited barely breathing until the man stepped up on the front porch. A few seconds later light from a front window glowed softly. Miss Ferguson’s bedroom. Had the man woke Miss Ferguson
