Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “There’s something up there.”

He plunked her on her feet, drew his gun again, stared up into the stairwell for a long moment, and then holstered his gun. “It’s a pigeon.”

Molly was a step above him. They were the only two that had come up this far. “He’s got a pigeon in a house this well built?”

“Maybe there’s a broken window.”

There was no wind, but the small peaked attic was cold. Of course, it was unheated in Wyoming in October.

Wyatt slipped past her and went on upstairs.

John McCall appeared at a run at the base of the closed staircase. “I heard a gunshot, then a scream. Trouble?”

Molly smiled down to see him putting his gun away. “No, the door was locked, and Wyatt shot it open. There’s a pigeon up here. It startled me. I’m sure it’s—”

“A pigeon.” John came up the stairs at a jog. Molly heard the distinctive coo of a pigeon. Wings continued to flutter in the space overhead.

Molly hustled to get to the top of the stairs because John was coming fast. He seemed fascinated.

Molly had no fondness for birds diving at her head.

“One got out of its cage, but there are more.” Wyatt pointed at the window in the east wall.

John strode toward an elaborate wire birdcage with many small coops sized for one bird.

Once Molly looked there, she saw several more pigeons. Then she looked around the attic and saw crates and trunks, stacks of unidentifiable things. What looked like massive shrouded pictures leaned against a wall. Molly wondered if Win knew these things were here.

A light pattering sound drew Molly’s attention from the stacks of things lining the attic to see John throw something. The pigeons got very busy eating.

“He had pet birds.” Molly glared at the poor things. “And he just abandoned them when he ran? That’s awful.”

John tossed what must be feed on the floor, and the flying pigeon went for it fast. As hungry as the others.

“It’s awful for that rattlesnake Hawkins but good for us.” John rubbed his hands together. “We’ll use them to find Hawkins without letting Kingston out of jail. It doesn’t suit me to let a man shoot Rachel in the heart and him not go to jail and stay there.”

“Aw, now, John, don’t be fussing about it,” Wyatt said sarcastically. “She got over that shot to the heart mighty fast.”

“You’re right.” John went to study the coop and the frantically eating birds with a mean smile on his face. “I’m petty and spiteful. One little old bullet to the heart of my coworker, and I’m holding a grudge.”