as Falcon looked toward the swinging body, he heard the sound of a horse behind him. Running through the barn to the back door, he saw a rider leaning over the horse’s neck, slapping the reins from one side to the other as he urged the animal into a fast gallop. Falcon fired at him, and saw the rider slap his hand to the side of his head.
He raised his pistol to take another shot but, realizing that the rider was already out of range, he eased the hammer down, then lowered his weapon. He watched as the rider continued on, sitting strong in his saddle. He must not have hit him.
By the time Falcon left the barn the citizens of the town were spilling back into the street. Most were gathered around the two bodies, one lying in the dirt in front of the hardware store, the other on the porch in front of the feed store. Some were looking at the body hanging upside down from the hay-lift rope.
Falcon went to check on his horse and, though the horse was still alive, there was a lot of blood bubbling from his mouth. “Damn. I’m sorry,” he said as he pointed his pistol at the horse’s head and pulled back on the hammer. “I’m really sorry.”
The expression in the horse’s eyes was one of acceptance, as if he knew what Falcon was about to do, and welcomed it.
Falcon pulled the trigger, and the horse died instantly.
Falcon stood there for a moment longer, holding the pistol pointing straight down by his leg, feeling a profound sense of sadness over having had to end the life of the noble animal.
“I know it hurts, Falcon, but it had to be done,” a voice said, and turning, Falcon saw a man, wearing a badge, coming toward him.
“I know,” Falcon said.
“Are you all right?” Sheriff Ferrell asked, solicitously.
“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks, Billy,” Falcon replied, returning the pistol to his holster. He motioned toward the horse. “He was a good one.”
“It’s a shame when animals get caught up in the doin’s of man. They wind up sufferin’ through no fault of their own,” the sheriff said.
“Yeah. The others dead? The one by the hardware and the one by the feed store?”
“They are, and so is the one hanging from the livery. Tell me, Falcon, you got ’ny idea who these fellers are, or why they tried to ambush you?” Ferrell asked.
“I didn’t have any idea when the shooting started, but when I came into the barn, I heard a couple names. One was Collins, and the other was Mueller. I’m thinking it is probably Luke Mueller.”
“Yeah, that fits,” the sheriff said.
“Fits what?”
“It fits with what I’m thinkin’, because I know what it was about.”
“Do you now? How do you know?”
“You’re a wanted man, Falcon.”
“What? Impossible! There’s no paper out on me.”
“There is now,” the sheriff replied. “I took this off the feller lyin’ over there in front of the feed store,” the sheriff said, handing a circular to Falcon. “You’re wanted all right, but not by the law. Take a look at this.”
Sheriff Ferrell gave Falcon a poster. It was exactly like the reward dodgers the law put out for wanted men. In every way, shape, and form, this was a wanted poster. Only, as Sheriff Ferrell pointed out, it had not been put out by the law.
REWARD
to anyone who kills
FALCON MACCALLISTER
$1,000.00 will be paid,
when Proof of Death is furnished to
Luke Mueller.
“You know this here Mueller feller, do you?” Sheriff Ferrell asked.
“Sort of,” Falcon answered.
“What do you mean, sort of?”
“I killed his brother a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, yes, I read about it in the paper. The Muellers held up a bank and murdered a couple folks over in MacCallister, if memory serves.”
“Memory serves you right,” Falcon replied. “I reckon what Luke Mueller is trying to do now, is get even with me.”
“Do you think one of these men was Luke Mueller?”
“That was the name I heard called out,” Falcon said. “But he isn’t one of the ones I killed.”
“He got away, did he?”
“Yes.”
“That feller seems to make habit of that, doesn’t he?” Ferrell asked. “Getting away, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Falcon said. “But it won’t be forever. It would appear that I’ve got a trap set for him now and sooner or later, he’s going to step into it.”
“You have a trap set?”
Falcon laughed, a low, mordant chuckle. “Yeah,” he said. He held up the reward poster the sheriff had given him. “I just realized this is the trap set for him. He set it himself, and I am the bait.”
Sheriff Ferrell chuckled. “I reckon I see what you mean,” he said. “You ever run a trap line, Falcon?”
“Oh, yes, I have.”
“Well, if you have, you’ll notice somethin’, I’m sure.”
“What’s that?”
“Even though you trap your prey, the bait purt’ near always gets took. So do me a favor and be careful, will you?”
“I’m always careful,” Falcon said.
It hurt to touch his ear, but Luke Mueller wanted to know how badly he had been hit. From what he could determine, his earlobe had been shot off, leaving a bloody piece of mangled flesh. It could have been a lot worse. One more inch to the left, and the bullet would have plowed into the back of his head.
He stopped by a stream, then jumped down from the horse to check out his ear in the reflection of the water. The current was running too swiftly to provide an image, but allowed him to clean his ear. And the cold water eased the pain a little.
Chapter Six
Superstition Mountain
Had someone been on top of Superstition Mountain looking down on the reddish brown canyon floor, they would have seen one man, walking slowly and with a slight limp, leading a mule. The man was walking with a definite purpose, for earlier he had picked out the exact spot where he intended to make camp for the night.
Although
