Jack rode comfortably behind Faraday and his men so as not to be noticed. Suddenly he pulled hard on the reins and came to a quick stop. He looked ahead; the men had stopped at the fork in the rode near Jed Orton’s place.
Jack rubbed the horse’s neck to keep him calm as he quietly rose up and dismounted. He grabbed the reins and headed for cover in a clump of Joshua trees near the road. Jack looked through the branches toward the fork in the road. He saw Faraday and his men talking and pointing at the woods where Orton was killed. Butch Canady jumped off his horse and ran into the woods. The other men stayed put, looking around nervously. A few minutes later, Canady ran out of the woods with something in his hand. He held it up to the other men. Some hundred yards away, Jack strained to see what it was.
Canady’s head was moving as his explained his find to the other men. Jack pulled some twigs apart to get a better look. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a spur. Canady had a habit, as some men did, of engraving his initials on just about everything he owned. Vagabonds like Canady were easy game for robbers, their initials were a way to claim their goods later. If it was a spur Canady was holding, it may have gotten caught in the thick brush and ripped off during the fatal beating of Jed Orton. It would be damning evidence if found by the law.
Suddenly, Jack’s horse leaped into the air. A sidewinder slithered across the clearing, frightening his horse. She whinnied loudly, ears flicked; her hind legs stepped back toward the road. Jack tried desperately to calm the terrified charger, but to no avail. She backed toward the road.
Jack was now out in the road, in full view of the men as he struggled with the horse. He was grabbing for the reins, trying to mount the panicky steed. He saw Norton pull his Winchester out of its holster and level the powerful rifle at him, as he struggled mightily to get his foot in the stirrup.
Two shots rang out. Frightened by the loud noise, Norton’s horse reared and danced nervously in the road; he couldn’t set for another shot.
The first bullet whizzed by Jack’s head. The second bullet hit the saddle horn, blowing it to bits. Lead flying, Jack struggled to mount up. His frightened horse finally stood still, Jack hopped aboard and rode quickly back to town.
Norton, atop his jumpy steed, tried to get off another shot; but it was too late. He gave momentary chase and then retreated.