“Jesse,” Bertie volunteered. “That’s what the other one called him, and I heard him say this fellow was his brother.”

“That’s right,” Porter said, just recalling. “He did say he was his brother.”

This was Booth’s brother? Hawk’s mind was turning rapidly, thinking it critical that he get after Booth right away. According to what Grover just told them, Booth took off running, leaving his brother behind to die. “I need to saddle my horse,” he said. “If Booth is off and runnin’ again, I need to try to find him before he leaves town. He and his brother had to be stayin’ somewhere here in town.”

“The Capital City Saloon,” Porter said quietly. “That feller you just shot was Billy Crocker. He was Mutt Crocker’s son, fellow that owns the saloon.” When Hawk looked a little startled, Porter quickly claimed, “I was gonna tell you that when we were talkin’ in my office, but that’s when we heard the gunshots and came runnin’.”

“How long have you known that?” Hawk asked, more than a little irritated.

“Not long,” Porter said. “Jim McDonald just told me. Said he was in the barbershop the other day when Billy Crocker came in to get a shave and a haircut. He was braggin’ to Alan Greer, said he was the fastest gun in the territory. I knew that Mutt Crocker mighta been on the wrong side of the law, but I never had any trouble with him. There mighta been some shady-lookin’ drifters that did business with him. But I didn’t know he had a son, and I sure didn’t know he was in town till today.” Porter could see that Hawk was thinking hard and fast, so he asked, “What are you fixin’ to do?”

“I’m fixin’ to saddle my horse,” Hawk replied. “I hope to hell I can find him before he skips town.” Based on what Porter had just told him, he figured if he didn’t see that black Morgan gelding tied up anywhere on Main Street, it was a good bet Booth had been staying at the Capital City. Already a step ahead of him, Grover opened the back doors again and hurried to the corral to get Hawk’s horse. If it had not been for the visit from Jesse and Booth, Rascal would have already been inside his stall.

Porter walked beside Hawk when he went into the tack room to get his saddle. “Maybe I’d best come along with you,” he said, “since I’m the sheriff. And maybe we can make an official arrest. Avoid more killin’, you know. Whaddaya think?”