Only two slight problems. I’d have to ride out of sight of the shooter. And I’d have to jump off a galloping horse and not get trampled by the rest of the herd. “Easy-peasy,” I muttered. Spam was looking better and better.

I used to do something called the Apache hideaway trick, where I would hang off the side of the galloping horse. That required a special saddle, but I could do a version of it much like the original Native Americans did during war—they used the horse as a shield. I just needed to loop a strap around the horse’s neck to hang on to and hook my leg over the horse’s spine.

Turning my attention to the logistics of creating a stampede, I studied the sprawling horse pasture. If I rode along the ridge until I was at the end of the field, I’d be out of sight of the cabin. The mule would announce his arrival and bring the herd over to check him out. If there was a gate at that end, I could get in and switch mounts. I wasn’t about to attempt trick riding on a green-broke mule. Even if there wasn’t a gate, I could climb through the fence.

I had no idea of the time, but the sun was approaching the horizon. I had to get my plan going now or wait until the middle of the night. I was pretty sure I’d conquered the PTSD trigger of night and darkness, but I didn’t much relish the idea of stumbling around in the dark.

The ridge and the field both ended. I didn’t have to turn the mule. He’d already decided he was home. He called out to his equine buddies with a loud grunting whinny, followed by an aw ah aw.

A number of horses returned his call and galloped toward us. So far, so good.

*  *  *

Bram’s mind played a dozen scenarios of what could have happened to Darby. She could have been thrown like he was. Was she hurt? God forbid, dead? Or had she turned around and returned? Had she found her route too difficult?

Did the killer follow her?

That last thought left him twisted in knots. They never should have gone separate ways. He should have insisted Roy be the third rider.

Had he finally found someone he wanted in his life, only to drive her away emotionally when he found out about her leg, then physically when he let her go for help alone?

She insisted she wanted to be the third rider.