He had descended for no more than thirty-five or forty yards when Rascal nickered several times. Well accustomed to being alerted by the buckskin when another horse was near, Hawk stopped at once. Thinking Booth was coming back, he led Rascal off the path far enough so as not to be seen right away, then he drew his rifle and went back to kneel beside the path. In a couple of minutes, he saw him coming up the path. A bowlegged, gray-bearded little man, dressed from head to foot in animal hides, was leading a horse. Behind the horse, on a lead rope, a mule followed. It was easy for Hawk to make a quick assumption that he was not looking at a member of Booth’s gang. With his rifle ready to fire, just in case, Hawk rose to his feet and stepped onto the path.

“Whoa!” The little man stopped abruptly and threw up his hands. “Don’t shoot! I was just bringin’ your mule back! I found him runnin’ through the woods down at the foot of the hill. Figured he musta got loose.”

Hawk lowered his rifle and walked toward the man. Hawk had a pretty good idea why the mule was running loose. “Sorry,” he said, “didn’t mean to startle you. That ain’t my mule.”

Relieved to see that he might not be in any trouble, the man looked Hawk up and down. “I ain’t never seen you before. You wasn’t with them other fellers up at the cabin, was you? You thinkin’ ’bout movin’ in up there?”

“Nope,” Hawk answered, “I’m just tryin’ to catch up with them.” He could see by the expression on the man’s face that his answer was good news.