Such were his thoughts that he almost missed the steer grazing peacefully just off the side of the road, the moonlight glancing off its hide. Fisher again?

Chase reined in his horse for a closer look. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but he was soon relieved of that notion. Much to his surprise, it was a Rocking M steer.

“Now what are you doing way out here?” he murmured beneath his breath.

Narrowing his eyes, he spotted the gaping hole in the barbed-wire fence and muttered a curse.

Urging Rebel forward, he chased the steer back where it belonged. He then reined in his horse and dismounted.

He reached into his vest pocket for the box of safety matches and hunkered down on his haunches. Striking a match, he held the flame close to the ground. The flickering spark illuminated the hoof marks of cattle mixed with the tracks of two, maybe three shod horses. Judging by the droppings, he guessed they had passed this way but a short time ago. No more than an hour or two.

Fishing pliers out of his saddlebags, Chase set to work repairing the fence the best he could. Cattle had an uncanny ability to spot an opening through which to escape. If he didn’t repair the fence, most, if not all, of his cattle would be gone by morning.

After twisting the broken pieces of barbed wire together, he debated whether to summon his men or follow the trail alone. Not wanting to lose more time, he decided his best bet was to track the cattle himself. With Emily gone, he wasn’t about to get much in the way of sleep anyhow, and riding helped him think.

Even in the pale moonlight, he could clearly see the tracks in the sandy soil. It would get harder ahead where the ground was rocky.

The mishmash of tracks in the sand suggested the thieves were in no hurry. They would probably hide the cattle in some remote canyon until morning. A ranch the size of his made a rustler’s job easy. It often took days to notice cattle missing, and by then, there wasn’t much that could be done. Tonight, luck had been on his side.

Mounting his horse, Chase headed northward, away from the main road. He expected the trail to lead to the distant river, but instead, it veered off toward the granite hills. Not much there but sagebrush and rock and an occasional stunted oak. He stopped from time to time to listen, but only the howl of a distant coyote and the whisper of the gentle wind broke the silence.

That and the muted cry of a broken heart.

Fighting the steel weight of despair that weighed down on him, Chase forced himself to keep going, but his heart wasn’t in it. They could take his cattle, take his ranch. Nothing mattered now that Emily was gone.

Still, he kept going. He rode for an hour, maybe two. The tracks went up a hill. Unable to see the other side, he leaned forward, his senses alert, while his horse picked its way cautiously up the rocky slope.