CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Thirty minutes after Deed rode away, Dixie Murphy, Sheriff Lucas, Rhey Selmon, and the rest of the Bar 3 gunmen rode up to the ambush site, leading the rest of the unridden horses. They were surprised to see the lone outlaw drinking coffee by his campfire.
“What the hell happened?” Murphy screamed as he reined up next to the man, who stood and wiped off his pants.
“Ah, Deed Corrigan. That’s what happened. He jumped us. Got away. About a half hour ago, I reckon,” the outlaw said, scratching his boot heel on the ground and rubbing his sore head where Deed had hit him.
“Why didn’t you go after him? That’s why you boys were here,” Murphy demanded.
“I didn’t have no gun. Made me throw ’em in the woods. Yonder.” He motioned toward the thick grove of trees. “Then he knocked me out. When I came around, I looked, but couldn’t find them.”
Rhey Selmon cursed and so did Dixie Murphy.
“If he gets away, there’s no telling what kind of hell he’ll create,” Lucas said, shaking his head.
“Won’t be too good for you, that’s for sure,” Selmon grunted and turned toward his men. “You three, grab an extra horse each and go after Corrigan. He’s hurt . . . bad. Stop him.”
The three men nudged their mounts forward, grabbing the reins of three other saddled horses.
“Push ’em hard and you’ll catch him,” Murphy declared, waving his arm in the direction of Deed’s escape. “Just let’em go when you switch. They’ll head for the Bar 3 after a while.” He bit off a chaw from a square of tobacco. “We’ll take a roundabout way to the ranch. Don’t want anybody tracking us there. Come as soon as he’s dead.”
Sheriff Lucas watched them gallop away with the extra horses beside them. “What should I do?”
Selmon spun toward him and fired. “Nothing, Sheriff. Nothing at all.”
The county lawman’s eyes widened, his hands extended as if to stop the bullets.
“No—”
Selmon fired three more times and Lucas fell face-down from his horse. Mud popped around him; his leg twitched and was still.
“What the hell was that all about?” Murphy screamed. “You just killed the county sheriff.”
“Agon’s orders.”
Selmon turned toward the cattleman and fired again. Murphy grabbed his arm and screamed again. “Damn you, I’ll—”
Holding up his left hand, Selmon explained, “Agon thought it would look a little suspicious if you were the only one in the posse not hurt.”
“Oh, damn. Couldn’t you have just grazed me?”
“I was trying.”
“Damn.”