THIRTY-NINE
Clint and Sheriff Bez rode into the cold camp. While Clint dismounted, the sheriff remained in the saddle and kept a sharp eye out.
Clint walked the camp, studying the ground. He went over to where the horses had been picketed, hoping to find something distinctive in the tracks.
“Anythin’?” Sheriff Bez asked.
Clint stood with his hands on his hips, spoke while he continued to study the ground.
“I’m not finding anything about these horse’s tracks, but . . .” He stopped and walked over to the cold fire.
“What is it?”
Clint held up a hand to ask the sheriff to be patient a moment. He studied the boot prints the men left behind and found what he was looking for.
“One of these fellows has worn down his left boot heel on the inside,” Clint said. “Probably favors it when he walks.”
“Can you use that to track a man?” Bez asked.
“Long as he gets off his horse from time to time,” Clint said. “And a man’s got to do that to keep his ass from getting stuck to the saddle.”
“So you got somethin’ you can use.”
“Looks like.”
Clint mounted up.
“Can you take me to where you broke off the pursuit?” he asked.
“County line,” the lawman said. “Just a few miles from here.”
When they reached the county line, Bez said, “My best guess is they continued to ride east.”
“They keep going that way, they’ll hit Louisiana,” Clint said.
“If they don’t turn north.”
Clint looked at the big lawman. If Clint had been wearing the badge, he would have followed the gang as far as he had to, but the fact of the matter was Bez had no jurisdiction beyond this line.
“What’s your first name?” Clint asked.
“Brad.”
Clint put out his hand.
“Thanks for your help.”
Brad Bez shook hands and said, “Wish I coulda done more.”
Clint watched the man head back to Fort Hampton, then called out.
“When my friends get to town, would you tell them which way I went?”
Bez turned in his saddle.
“I’ll do better than that,” he promised. “I’ll show ’em.”
“They might even be there when you get back,” Clint said. “Ben Weaver and James McBeth are their names.”
“I’ll remember,” Bez said. “Good luck to you.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
The man turned and gigged his horse into a trot. Clint watched until he was out of sight, then turned Eclipse’s head east.
“We’ll camp soon, big boy,” he promised. “Let’s just see if we can’t find something else out while we’ve still got some light to work with.”
Eclipse bounced his big head up and down as if in assent, and off they went at a brisk walk.