“Booth ain’t got no interest in old wore-out whores like Josie,” Jesse informed him. “He just wanted to get a drink and do a little thinkin’ ’bout where we oughta be headin’ when we leave here.”

“How do you know she’s an old wore-out whore?” Trip responded. “Bodine said she’s younger’n she looks.”

“’Cause what the hell would she be doin’ at Bodine’s if she wasn’t?” Jesse answered.

Lying flat on his belly, listening to the idle conversation among the three outlaws, Hawk could hardly believe he had been talking to Booth in the saloon less than an hour before. It didn’t register with him at the time that Booth looked freshly shaven. And I’m supposed to be a scout, he thought. I had my rifle in my hand. I could have shot him down and cut off the head of this gang. What to do now? That was the question. He found himself right in the middle of the vicious miscreants who had slaughtered whole families of innocent people. It left him facing a challenge that he had not anticipated when he first set out on this self-appointed mission. His original aim was to trail these killers, so the army or the marshals would know where to find them. He knew now that it was not a realistic endeavor. He could ride away, but by the time he left here and traveled to any law enforcement agency, these criminals would be gone to who knows where. They were still on the move. What it boiled down to was, he was the only recourse those massacred families had for vengeance. And it was his decision as to whether or not he was going to take justice into his own hands. It would not be the first time he had to make that decision. He thought about the two men on the Yellowstone who had kidnapped Winter Flower. When they came for her, he had killed them without hesitating. Booth and his partners would be no different. He would be their judge, jury, and executioner, because he was here. There was no one else to do it.