2

Despite his vow to track down Clete Hardisty, Ben Judwin had few clues to go on when he rode out of Cotulla before dawn the next morning. He’d sold Bill’s horse to the livery stable owner, who assured Judwin he would send the money to Pierson’s widow. Armed with information from two eyewitnesses to Pierson’s murder that the killer had ridden south out of town, and their sketchy description of the gunman, the young Ranger headed in the same direction. He took the main road heading toward Mexico. Along with his own Colt, he was now wearing Bill Pierson’s Peacemaker.

“I don’t know where those hombres are headed, Charcoal,” Judwin admitted to his steeldust gelding. “I sure can’t pick out their tracks from any of these others. I’ve just got a gut feelin’ they headed this way. If the worst happens, and we can’t find them, we’ll just hook up with the company like Bill ordered.”

Judwin fell into a pensive silence. He pushed his horse at a mile-eating pace, stopping only to allow the steeldust a brief breather or short drink. It was almost dusk when

he spotted a dim trail turning off the main road, a trail marked with the hoof prints of twenty or more horses.

“That’s got to be Hardisty’s bunch!” Judwin exclaimed. “C’mon, Charcoal, get movin’!”

The young Ranger urged his weary mount into a full gallop. Less than half an hour later he hauled the horse down in a sliding stop, when they topped a rise overlooking a ranch in a small valley.

Sure looks abandoned, Judwin thought. Through the gathering gloom, he studied the buildings, spending several minutes looking over the spread.

“Guess we’ll head down there careful-like, Charcoal,” he murmured to his gelding. “Although I’ve got a sick feelin’ in my belly Hardisty’s already paid that place a visit and moved on.”

Judwin didn’t hear a sound when he walked his horse into the ranch yard and dismounted. He tied Charcoal to the porch rail, then lifted his Colt from its holster before climbing the stairs and pushing open the door. The minute he entered the house, the barrel of a rifle was rammed into his spine.

“Hold it right there, Mister, or I’ll drop you in your tracks. Lose that gun and get your hands up,” a harsh voice snarled.

Judwin let his gun fall to the floor and raised his hands shoulder-high.

“Now turn around, real slow.”

When the Ranger turned to face his captor, the rifle barrel was jabbed deep into his belly, driving air from his lungs. Judwin grunted. He found himself looking into the face of a cowpuncher little older than himself.

“Just who are you, Mister?” the cowboy demanded. “Tell me why I shouldn’t blast your guts out right now.”

“The name’s Ben Judwin. I’m a Texas Ranger.”

“You got any proof of that?”

“My badge is in my shirt pocket, and my commission’s in my billfold.”

“Take them out and let me see them. Easy. Once false move and I’ll splatter your insides all over this room.”

Judwin reached carefully into his pockets to remove the badge and commission papers. He handed them to the cowboy. As his vision grew accustomed to the dim light, he realized the house had been thoroughly ransacked.

The cowboy studied Judwin’s commission for a moment, then handed it and the half-finished badge back to him. He lowered the rifle.

“I reckon you’re who you claim to be, Ranger. I’m Jake Sheehan. You can put your hands down and pick up your gun.”

Sheehan suddenly broke into great gasping sobs.

“I’m sorry, Ranger,” Sheehan apologized. “I just buried my wife. I came home and found her dying.”

“Let me guess. She was murdered,” Judwin said. He slid his Colt back in its holster.

“You’re right,” Sheehan confirmed. “Murdered… and worse. I wish those hombres had just killed her rather’n… you know what I mean. Better still, I wish I’d been home when they showed up. I would’ve done in every last one of ‘em before they ever got to Becky.”

Judwin tried to offer some small comfort to the distraught cowboy.

“If it’s the same bunch I’m trailin’ all that would’ve happened is you would have gotten yourself killed while your wife watched. That would’ve been even worse for her. Then, once you were dead they still would’ve had their way with her. The head of that outfit gunned down my pardner, and Bill was one of the smartest and toughest Rangers you’d ever meet.”

“You say you’re trailin’ ‘em?” Sheehan asked.

“That’s right.”

“Then I’m goin’ with you. I was just getting ready to saddle my horse and take after those men when I spotted you up on that rise. I thought you might be one of them comin’ back, which is why I was waitin’ on you. If you had been one of that bunch, you’d have a couple of slugs in your guts right about now.”

“I don’t think I can let you ride with me,” Judwin answered. “This is the Hardisty outfit I’m after. They’re one of the most vicious gangs to ever hit Texas. We’ll be outnumbered ten to one.”

“I’ve got nothing left,” Sheehan replied. “My wife’s dead, and she meant everything to me. Anything of value on the spread’s been taken, and the stock all driven off. There’s nothing holding me here. Besides, you can’t stop me from following you. When you do catch up with Hardisty and his men, my gun’ll sure come in handy.”

Judwin rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before answering.

“I reckon you’re right, Jake. I’ll water my horse while you saddle up. The longer we stand here jawin’ the more distance those renegades can put between us.”