He wanted to sneeze from the dust in the air. Pinching his nose, he crawled up the bale-stacked stairs until he reached the top. He stayed out of sight of the door as he lifted and arranged the hay to create a blind. From his perch, he could watch anyone moving around most of the ranch as well as anyone entering this part of the barn. Now all he needed was a tall glass of cold water, a pain pill, and a gun.

The horses were visible to his right, grazing contentedly, not the least worried about missing bodies or hidden killers.

He realized he’d been staring at one horse, a large Appaloosa. It looked like the horse Darby had ridden this morning. He squinted to see better. A saddle-sized patch of dried sweat marked his back.

His throat closed and he clenched his jaw.

It was Darby’s horse.

*  *  *

The sun crept slowly across the sky. I’d grown drowsy when I heard the sound coming from the cleft in the rocks where I’d first slipped through. Hoofbeats.

My heart hammered in my ears. I held my breath. Either the mule was returning, or the killer. I remained still, praying for a mule.

The dogs stood and wagged their tails, staring at the rock opening.

A brown head with large flappy ears appeared. The mule.

I exhaled. Please come over and eat.

As if hearing my thoughts, the mule continued to the sheltered feeder and grabbed a mouthful of hay.

“Easy, big guy.” I stood up slowly so as not to frighten him.

The mule backed away and trotted to the middle of the yard.

I couldn’t let him get away. “Steady there, easy.” I fluffed the hay into what I hoped was an appetizing pile.

His ears perked up. Slowly, cautiously, he again approached the feeder and stopped.

I recognized the mule as the one I’d petted at the pasture. He wasn’t that shy if he’d come over to the fence. If I picked up his halter, he might stay calm.

If he was only trained for packing, not riding, I could be in for a real rodeo. I needed something to hold on to should he decide to buck.