“I’ll wait here till the horses have had a chance to drink before I start after you,” Harley said. “While I’m waitin’, I’ll put this poor feller in the ground.”

Cole waved his hand to acknowledge, then set out following the obvious trail in the light snow. Harley paused a few minutes, watching his young friend as he rode off after the men who had done this evil business. He had not mentioned it, but he was sure that memories of Cole’s past had come rushing back to remind him of the tragedy that had destroyed his family—also at the hands of murderers like these he was bound to go after today. Harley could tell when the occasional memory came back to haunt his friend, but Cole never spoke of it. Maybe time will eventually heal his sorrow, Harley thought.

As he had told Harley, Cole had no trouble following the trail, which led to the southeast in the general direction of the little settlement of Casper. He encouraged Joe to a fast walk, and the big Morgan gelding responded willingly. Cole had planned to rest Joe at the river even though he had not shown signs of exhaustion, but he was going to have to ask a little more of him. If the men he pursued were heading to Casper, it was unlikely they planned to reach that town with a woman hostage in tow, so he could not waste any time in the chase. Maybe they would stop a little earlier than usual to make camp. That would be good for him, but might not be good for their captive. The thought increased the urgency he already felt for the woman’s situation.

* * *

Malcolm Womack pulled his horse to a halt and waited for his brother to pull up beside him. He pointed to a pocket of trees a few hundred yards ahead, where a stream wound its way through a shallow valley. “That looks like a good place.”

“I was startin’ to wonder if you was gonna stop anytime soon,” Travis said. Younger than his brother by a year and a half, he was accustomed to waiting for Malcolm when it came to making decisions—at least when their eldest brother, Troy, was not present. That was the case on this trip, Troy having elected to remain in Laramie.

Malcolm chuckled in response. “You ain’t gettin’ itchy, are you, brother? Hell, we ain’t rode more ’n five miles from their camp.” He turned in the saddle to look back at the woman on the mule behind him. “How ’bout you, Buttercup? You gettin’ itchy, too?” He chuckled again at the joke he had made, amused by the lack of response from his hostage.