John looked each of them in the eye. “This is it. We’ll follow it as far as we can, and if we don’t find it or find some trail that gives us a way to travel, we’ll have to go back.”

“And probably have to make a deal with Kingston,” Sheriff Corly said bitterly.

It burned every one of them to let the man go, but to capture Hawkins, who had committed multiple murders, they might have to agree to his terms.

Molly caught Wyatt’s hand, and she prayed silently. She saw Falcon and Cheyenne whispering with an intensity that made Molly think they were sharing a prayer.

Wyatt lifted her hand and kissed her gloved fingertips. Their eyes met.

John quietly said, “Amen.”

He reached in the cage for the last pigeon and tossed it in the air.

It took off like a shot straight north. At least it wasn’t going to Casper. They all watched, all hoping and praying.

The bird didn’t soar onward, over the next peak and out of sight.

Instead, it landed.

A long way down, in a thick stand of trees. But it definitely found its stopping place. It’d gotten home.

Molly’s heart sped up. “Did you see it?”

“I did.” Cheyenne reined her horse toward the trail, Falcon only a horse length behind.

“I surely did.” The sheriff kicked his horse to follow. John went next.

Wyatt, his eyes sharp and ready for trouble, said, “I’ll bring up the rear.”

Molly looked at him for a long second. There was so much ahead of them. The first thing was going to be hard. If their prayers were answered, they’d be facing a cornered killer. Fighting for their lives. If they weren’t answered, an evil man would go free, and he’d attacked them before. Just because he’d been found out didn’t mean he might not come at them again.

Nodding, Molly leaned across the distance between their horses and kissed Wyatt soundly on his cold lips.

He kissed her right back. “Get going, woman.”

He smiled at her, and she nodded and headed after John.

They were almost there. Almost to what was likely the hideout of a murderer.

A cowardly murderer who hurt defenseless women. But someone had shot Wyatt near Hawkins’s place. Molly hadn’t considered Hawkins a likely suspect for the crime at the time. Now she knew he was almost for sure guilty. It was a cowardly act, and that sounded just like him.

Though they rode bent low, every one of them kept a sharp eye out, and not a shot was fired. They reached a clearing, and a tumbledown cabin stood there, brush grown up close to it on all four sides. A shanty of a barn behind it.

“Hawkins! Come out.” John surprised them all with a powerful voice. Threatening. Furious.