William Johnstone - Dead Before Sundown

“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.

“Hello, the cabin!” Frank shouted. “Hello in there! We’re not looking for trouble!”

There was no response.

Frank tried again. “Can you hear me in there? We’re friends!”

“That’s stretchin’ it a mite,” Salty muttered. “I ain’t friends with nobody who tries to part my hair with a bullet!”

“Hush,” Frank said. He raised his voice again. “Hello, the cabin!”

Nothing met the call but silence. There weren’t even any sounds in the underbrush. The shots had caused all the birds and small animals to flee.

“Something’s wrong,” Frank said quietly.

“Yeah, some polecat shot at us!”

“It’s more than that,” Frank said. “Salty, you and Meg keep an eye on the place.”

“What are you going to do?” Meg asked.

“Work my way through the trees and see if I can get behind the cabin. There might be a door or a window back there by that corral and shed.”

“Be careful,” Meg cautioned him. “There might be more than one man in there. If there is a back way in, somebody may be watching it.”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take,” Frank said. Before she could argue with him, he slid off through the trees, moving quickly but quietly.

He pulled back deeper into the woods so that anybody watching the trees wouldn’t be as likely to see him. The cabin was only about fifty yards away. Frank covered twice that distance in circling around it. When he thought he had gone far enough, he ventured a look.

He was past the cabin now, so he was able to look at the back side of it. The shed was built right against the wall. There was no window or door.

But that didn’t mean this side was a blind approach. There could be chinks between the logs big enough for a man to look out through them but too small for Frank to see from this distance. There could even be loopholes through which a rifle barrel could be slid.

But he had to take the chance. The only other option was for him and his companions to mount up, work their way through the woods until they were out of sight of the cabin, and then ride on.

They could do that, but Frank didn’t like unanswered questions. Nor did he care for the possibility that the man they were looking for could be in that cabin.

The cabin and its adjacent shed and corral lay about twenty yards from the edge of the trees. Frank took a deep breath and then charged out from cover, running toward the structures as fast as he could.

Riding boots weren’t made for running. All too aware that he was out in the open, Frank felt like he was barely making any progress at all. He knew with every step that somebody could be drawing a bead on him.

In reality, only a few seconds passed before he reached the corral. He paused for a second, crouching beside the pole fence. When no shots roared out from the cabin, he moved closer. He reached the corner of the cabin.

There were no windows on this side, either. It was beginning to look as if the door and the front window were the only ways in or out of the place.