For Author's Note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 6

"Stretch," Larry grunted as he studied the tracks around a cold campfire. There were enough boot prints on top of each other that very few were clear, but one deep set print showed enough that he could tell the chip missing from the heel of the boot where a stray bullet had gouged it out a few months prior. His tall frame and muscular build ensured that the print was deep and clearly marked.

Grunting Curry nodded his acknowledgment as he further studied the ground. Heyes liked to brag that he was a good tracker, and he was fair. He could track a deer, a cat and even some two legged critters, but Curry was better. Which was why he smiled when he spotted a very clear and pristine print by the fire. "And Joshua," he smiled. "It might be something that his friend never admitted to his face, but they both knew that Curry was better, and the fact that Heyes clearly counted on him finding the tracks was a form of acknowledgement.

"Ya certain?" Larry studied the track that did not have much in the way of uniqueness over it. The heel was slightly wider than the average cowboy boot, not the flat shoes of a town man, nor heavy work boots of a farmer, but still something reminiscent of those.

"Certain sure," Curry nodded. "Never figured why, but he got them boots like that. Boots outside his pants, could take him for a sodbuster if you're not careful." He had always thought that Heyes liked to be underestimated, and it made sense in a way. Or, it was to get better access to the knife tucked in one boot and the lockpicks in the other. He wasn't the kind who'd stab a fellow in the back, or use the knife in a brawl, but he could be one sneaky fella when he wanted to.

Larry nodded slowly, studying the cigarette butts where the owl hoots had been sleeping, the marks on the ground showing uneven from the blankets. Then further from the fire the vague shape of two lying without blankets. Studying them closer Curry frowned, one of them had the imprint of something long and narrow, about five and a half inches. His general impression would be that someone was lying on a stick, or a stick of dynamite, though a stick would make at least a little more sense. It confused him, as he couldn't see why anyone would want to do that.

"Splint," Larry grunted, taking a pouch of Durham from his pocket to build a smoke.

"Suppose you're right," Curry felt his shoulders sag with a deep sigh. That was bad news. He had counted on his friend being able to keep himself more or less in one piece. Well, at least he still had the arm, he wouldn't be able to get himself out of much of anything if he did not.

The campsite did not yield much else, except a bit of a mess where they appeared to have done a poor job of cleaning their plates. At least they had tracks to follow, but when the tracks joined a road, and then a cross road Curry pushed the hat back on his head. Larry had got off his horse, stalking the road back and forth, one branch then the other, studying the tracks, but it was obvious that there had been some traffic by afterwards as there was nothing discernible for them to find.

Until a hundred yards or so after the fork Larry once more got off his horse, this time picking up something that glinted in the sunlight. "Bullet," he grunted. "Could be them."

"Let me see that," Curry demanded and Larry tossed it to him. With a practice born of several attempts in getting the upper hand over his cousin in a coin toss, Curry caught it. "It's them." He declared. "Joshua must've off have dropped this."

"That's not from no Colt .45," Larry gave a pointed look at the six gun in a low slung holster on Curry's thigh.

"Joshua got a Schofield, .45, we got the same cartridges," Taking one from his own belt Curry tossed it to Larry together with the one he had found. The two were identical.

"Not many with a gun like that use this kind of bullets," Larry's eyes narrowed.

"No, but when there's two of you, it makes sense to use the same if you can," Curry shrugged. The longer Colt cartridge wouldn't work in the Schofield, but the shorter Schofield bullet worked fine in his own Colt. It wasn't as if it shot any differently from using the more unusual bullet.

"Reckon they got 'em riding double," the hoofprint just about on top of where he had found the bullet was a little deeper than the rest, and just a little more rugged, as if the horse was tiring. "They won't be able to make good time."

"Tracks are still a couple days old," Curry pursed his lips in displeasure. Between the time that it had taken for the stage to get in, and them to find out their friends were missing, and the time it had taken them to get to where the hold up had been, they had quite the head start on them. He looked up at the sky, it was clear enough without much chance of rain, and so far, not much wind either. With all the dust, a strong wind could blow out the tracks, though at least it looked as if Heyes still had his wits about him. He didn't like the blood they had found by the place of the hold up, and he for sure did not like that there was signs of a splint. It would make it a lot harder if his friend was injured.

Larry grunted something and leapt into the saddle, rising himself up in the stirrups to scan the horizon. There wasn't much to see, no dust clouds in the distance that could tell of their missing friends' whereabouts.

Later in the day another crossroad revealed another bullet half hidden in the dust. Curry had dismounted to study the tracks as had Valentine who fingered the bullet absentmindedly. "Don't reckon he can drop many of those," Larry held it between thumb and forefinger.

"Don't know how bright them boys are," Curry mused. "But I would bet they'd start noticing if he did."

"Can't say I'm sure of you or your pard yet," Larry tucked the bullet into his pocket. "But I reckon he's got brains."

"He sure does," Curry mused, turning a half circle. The two of them slowly moving along the trail, one on each side.

Out of the corner of his eye, Curry saw Valentine freeze at the same time as he felt the blood run cold in his own veins, an unmistakable sound drawing his attention. No doubt the snake had been lazing about by the side of the road. Obviously they had disturbed it, and it was now very annoyed. The rigid S curve of the body, the insistent rattle as the snake hissed, black tongue flickering. He knew the pattern of the back and the black and white rings by the tail more than well enough. A diamond back rattle snake, Heyes kept insisting that they were not necessary instantly deadly, but it was a theory that Curry had never felt he wanted to test.

Valentine stood frozen in place with one hand hovering over the butt of his gun. He did however not dare to move, or the snake would strike. Where he stood, Curry had no clear line of fire from where he stood. "Don't move," he urged. Throwing himself down on the ground at the same time as his gun cleared leather he fired. The head of the snake seemed like an impossibly small target, and yet his bullet struck true. The snake was thrown into the air, tumbling before it fell, writhing.

Valentine did not say anything, but his intelligent brown eyes and the firm stubborn set of his jaw almost gave him chills. It was as bad as Heyes when he had something he was about to figure out.

Slipping the gun back into his holstery Curry simply shrugged, "only way I know how to deal with those…"

"Makes sense to me, thanks," Valentine grunted, kicking the dead snake further away from the road with the toe of his boot.

"Welcome," Curry slipped the gun out of his holster again, ejecting the spent shell and replacing it with one from his belt before reholstering. He wondered if he would have been more comfortable if Valentine had said more, but the way he was looking at him. It was almost worse than the way Heyes had about him. Either because he knew his friend just about as well as he knew himself, or, because it was so seldom aimed at him. The only difference between them, aside from those extra inches on Valentine was the fact that the Texan's intense stare was backed up by a dark scowl. Heyes prefered a dimpled grin that would either disarm or confuse them, and occasionally make someone want to punch him in the face.

Not too infrequently, that someone was Curry…

"Any idea where they might be heading?" he tried to distract Valentine, though he figured it was useless. He and Heyes really did seem like they were cut from the same cloth. Even if Valentine wore his hair a little shorter, and the battered old stetson was brown and not black.

"Could be anywhere, couple towns along the road," Valentine shrugged. "Don't reckon west though. Unless they want to try for the desert."

"Any water?" Most people hesitated to cross any desert unless they knew where to find water.

"Not a lot of it," Valentine shook his head as he made his way back to his horse.

"Riding double, they'd be foolish to try it," he hoped they wouldn't. If they did, and found out it was too much trouble to be worth it. The prisoners were the first thing they would do away with. He had no desire to find Heye's dead body along the trail.

"North got some ranches, cattle country, every chance of finding a line shack or something to hole up in. East, coming to the hills, rocky country, might be caves."

"Can't be certain, but might be one of the horses got a shoe with a nail showing. Saw it before, wasn't sure if it was one of their or someone else's, but the tracks are still here," Curry mused.

Squatting down over the track, Valentine studied it carefully for several minutes before he got back to his horse. Mounting up and moving down the trail, leaving to Curry to follow.

TBC

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