fresh horse tracks down a wash along the base of a ridge. The sheriff's horse was getting more and more skittish by the minute, and her own mount had begun sidestepping nervously. "Calm down, boy," she soothed. "Just keep going a little farther. I think we're about to find something." Nudging her horse to increase his gait, she felt the sheriff’s horse pulling on the lead.
"You had a real scare, didn't you?" she asked, turning in the saddle. The horse's eyes rolled wildly, seemingly in response.
The tracks led Cass up out of the wash and along a narrow path at the very base of the ridge. She was definitely on a course leading to the Lazy T. Her blue eyes narrowed as the path widened and turned away from the ridge, curving into a more open area of the range. Ahead of her was a dark bump on the landscape. A bump that looked, sadly, as if it could be the curled-up body of a man. "Come on, boys," she urged as she spurred her mount, leading the sheriff's horse along behind.
Cass's heart sank as she neared the form. It was Sheriff Jackson, and the whole right side of his head was caved in. "Oh, no," she breathed, swinging herself out of the saddle and ground tethering her horse. Rushing to the body, she knelt beside it and pressed her fingers against the sheriff’s throat in a frantic and hopeful search for a pulse. Closing her eyes, she sighed sadly at the firm, cool feel of his skin. "Damn, damn, damn, this is all my fault," she breathed, "If I'd gone to talk to Tylo myself, you'd still be alive." She straightened a bit, more certain now of Tylo's involvement in the massacre of her family. "You must have asked the right questions, Sheriff," she whispered. "If I'd done the asking maybe it'd be Mr. Hunt Tylo's body cooling under the late afternoon sun right now," she said through clenched teeth.
It took some doing to get the heavy, stiffening body of the sheriff over the back of his horse, especially since the animal kept shying away from the smell of blood. "'Whoa, boy," she kept coaxing until the job was done.
Finally, with her saddle blanket tied over the upper half of Jackson's body as he hung across the saddle, she started back toward town. The sound of the horse's hooves behind her, plodding heavily with the body, pounded against the earth like a steady heartbeat, a heartbeat that matched her own and caused the anger and need for revenge to burn hotter in her chest. "I'll finish this yet," she vowed quietly as she rode.
Brett had found out where the Wayne ranch was by asking the blacksmith, and was readying his horse to make the trip when he saw Cass riding into town leading a horse behind her. It took him a second to realize the horse she led was carrying a body.
A few of the townspeople also saw Cass and ran to see who she was bringing in. Brett heard Sheriff Jackson's name being spoken in hushed, saddened tones as he walked to meet her in the street. "Cass, what happened," he asked when he neared.
Cass pulled her horse to a stop and looked down into the gray eyes of the marshal. "He's dead . . . and it's my fault," she told him stonily.
A murmur of disapproval and anger floated through the crowd of people growing larger by the second. "Wasn't killing one man already today enough for you?" a voice from the crowd asked.
Cass turned her head only slightly in the direction of the voice. This was what her life had become since the murder of her family. This was what it would be until she finished what she'd started. So be it.
Brett watched Cass's reaction to the words. He could see the stern set to her jaw, the stiffness in her neck as she turned a bit. He could see the way her hands gripped the reins of her horse so tightly her knuckles turned white. But the thing that bothered him most was the death in her eyes. Eyes so beautiful the sky should have been envious of their color. Eyes that should have been turned up in sparkling laughter or drooping slightly in the loss of a tear. But he saw no possibility of those
"You had a real scare, didn't you?" she asked, turning in the saddle. The horse's eyes rolled wildly, seemingly in response.
The tracks led Cass up out of the wash and along a narrow path at the very base of the ridge. She was definitely on a course leading to the Lazy T. Her blue eyes narrowed as the path widened and turned away from the ridge, curving into a more open area of the range. Ahead of her was a dark bump on the landscape. A bump that looked, sadly, as if it could be the curled-up body of a man. "Come on, boys," she urged as she spurred her mount, leading the sheriff's horse along behind.
Cass's heart sank as she neared the form. It was Sheriff Jackson, and the whole right side of his head was caved in. "Oh, no," she breathed, swinging herself out of the saddle and ground tethering her horse. Rushing to the body, she knelt beside it and pressed her fingers against the sheriff’s throat in a frantic and hopeful search for a pulse. Closing her eyes, she sighed sadly at the firm, cool feel of his skin. "Damn, damn, damn, this is all my fault," she breathed, "If I'd gone to talk to Tylo myself, you'd still be alive." She straightened a bit, more certain now of Tylo's involvement in the massacre of her family. "You must have asked the right questions, Sheriff," she whispered. "If I'd done the asking maybe it'd be Mr. Hunt Tylo's body cooling under the late afternoon sun right now," she said through clenched teeth.
It took some doing to get the heavy, stiffening body of the sheriff over the back of his horse, especially since the animal kept shying away from the smell of blood. "'Whoa, boy," she kept coaxing until the job was done.
Finally, with her saddle blanket tied over the upper half of Jackson's body as he hung across the saddle, she started back toward town. The sound of the horse's hooves behind her, plodding heavily with the body, pounded against the earth like a steady heartbeat, a heartbeat that matched her own and caused the anger and need for revenge to burn hotter in her chest. "I'll finish this yet," she vowed quietly as she rode.
Brett had found out where the Wayne ranch was by asking the blacksmith, and was readying his horse to make the trip when he saw Cass riding into town leading a horse behind her. It took him a second to realize the horse she led was carrying a body.
A few of the townspeople also saw Cass and ran to see who she was bringing in. Brett heard Sheriff Jackson's name being spoken in hushed, saddened tones as he walked to meet her in the street. "Cass, what happened," he asked when he neared.
Cass pulled her horse to a stop and looked down into the gray eyes of the marshal. "He's dead . . . and it's my fault," she told him stonily.
A murmur of disapproval and anger floated through the crowd of people growing larger by the second. "Wasn't killing one man already today enough for you?" a voice from the crowd asked.
Cass turned her head only slightly in the direction of the voice. This was what her life had become since the murder of her family. This was what it would be until she finished what she'd started. So be it.
Brett watched Cass's reaction to the words. He could see the stern set to her jaw, the stiffness in her neck as she turned a bit. He could see the way her hands gripped the reins of her horse so tightly her knuckles turned white. But the thing that bothered him most was the death in her eyes. Eyes so beautiful the sky should have been envious of their color. Eyes that should have been turned up in sparkling laughter or drooping slightly in the loss of a tear. But he saw no possibility of those
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