He stared hard at the cabin. There seemed to be no one in or around it. The one window on the side was shuttered, and the door closed. The major problem was an open area of grass about twenty-five yards wide between the trees and the cabin. He would have to cross that without being seen. He decided it was worth the risk. Of course, if I’m wrong, then Rascal’s gonna be an orphan, he thought as he crouched and ran toward the side of the cabin. Once he reached it, he was confident he couldn’t be seen from the other cabin or the corral. To be doubly sure, he peeked through a crack in the window shutter and confirmed that the cabin was empty. He would have liked to go inside to wait for the three men to appear, just for the protection of the cabin walls, but he didn’t think it wise to risk going around to the front door to see if he could even get in. He would be a lot more likely to be seen if he was standing at the door. Further thoughts along that line were interrupted when one of the men walked outside the cabin across from him. Hawk quickly ran to the back corner of the empty cabin and got down on his belly. From there, he could see the man plainly. Of average height and lean as a knife blade, he wore his sidearm low on his hip in a fast-draw holster, and he carried his saddle on his shoulder. “Best get your ass goin’,” he called back toward the cabin. “Ol’ Dinner Bell oughta be settin’ the table pretty soon.”

“You ain’t gotta tell me twice,” a response came back as another man walked out behind him, carrying his saddle. Hawk felt his muscles tense. It was Tater! That was all he needed to confirm his belief that these were definitely the men who had slaughtered the people on the mule train. There should be one more now, and he anxiously awaited the appearance of the man with the fancy mustache, David Booth, as Hawk knew his name. After a few moments, he walked out, throwing momentary doubt into Hawk’s mind. He wore no mustache! It was almost enough to make Hawk think he had been trailing the wrong gang. But there was no mistaking Tater. As the three of them saddled their horses for the short ride up to Bodine’s saloon, Hawk was in for another surprise when Tater spoke again. “Ol’ Booth’s up there already, tryin’ to get a head start, I reckon.”

“Won’t do him any good,” Trip Dawson drawled. “That gal, what’s her name? Josie,” he repeated when Jesse told him. “Anyway, she ain’t hardly over the female sickness yet. Least, that’s what Dinner Bell said this mornin’.”