Cotton's Law (9781101553848) Read Online Free PDF Page A

northeast. Cotton knew he had the best tracker in the area; all he had to do was settle in and let Henry find the shooter. Until then, his mind wandered to when he and Bart Havens had first crossed paths, and the treachery that followed. It didn’t take him long to dredge up those tragic past events. He’d tried, and failed, to forget them. He still struggled with why he hadn’t killed Havens when he’d had the chance.
    After about three hours of seemingly aimless wandering, Henry pulled up and pointed to a far-­off shanty sitting in a copse of trees atop a rise about a mile and a half away.
    “He go there.”
    Cotton nodded but said nothing. He turned in the saddle and began picking through his saddlebags. He pulled out his field glasses. He raised them and sighted through the lenses, adjusting for distance and focus. He scanned the area around the shanty before finally speaking.
    “I don’t see any sign of anyone. But we’ll approach carefully just the same. You ride out in a wide circle to the left. I’ll do the same to the right. Give a call if you spot anything or anyone.”
    Henry said nothing as he kneed his pony to a walk to carry out the sheriff’s plan. Cotton did the same, pulling his Winchester from its saddle scabbard just in case. If this shooter had a rifle that could shoot accurately at long distances, he might just be sighting down on the two of them at that very instant. By separating, he figured to cut the chances of both of them getting cut down.
    The closer he got to the shanty, the more intensely Cotton scanned the area. About a hundred yards away, he dismounted, dropped the mare’s reins, and proceeded on foot, staying as low as possible and using as much brush as he could find for added cover.
    He pulled up twenty-­five yards short of the ramshackle building, cocked the rifle, and carried it aimed forward and ready. He moved slowly, looking left and right, listening for any sign of life. He heard nothing but the buzz of bees around the yellow brittlebush scattered over the landscape, and the occasional screech of a circling hawk as it zeroed in on its kill. He decided to call out.
    “Hello, the cabin. If there’s anybody in there, now would be a good time to come out, before I give the place some ventilation, the lead kind.”
    Hearing no response, he figured he’d put a bullet through the door for good measure. It certainly wouldn’t reduce the property value any. The roar of his Winchester elicited no response except a cloud of smoke. No sound came from within.
    “Henry, you see anything?”
    The Indian slipped from the back of the building, looking cautiously around the corner. He looked at Cotton sheepishly with his hands in the air.
    “I see nothing but bullet that go by. Miss me by this much.” Henry held up his hands to indicate a distance of about a foot. It was Cotton’s turn to look sheepish.
    “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were out back. Shouldn’t have squeezed off a shot in the first place.”
    “It okay. Maybe miss by more than I say.” Henry broke into a wide grin.
    They both walked to the door of the cabin. Cotton kicked it in and shoved inside, looking left and right. Henry pushed by him, sniffed the air, and grunted. They went back outside, where the odor of stale smoke and rotting wood wasn’t so prevalent.
    “Man with big gun come here. Meet other man who make smoke. Wear perfume, like white squaw.”
    This man amazes me more every time I’m with him
, Cotton thought.
    “Any idea how long ago they left?”
    “No. But go different directions.”
    “Can you tell which way the shooter went?”
    “Maybe back to Apache Springs.”
    “He might be trying to get another shot at Jack . . . or me. I’d better make tracks to assure that doesn’t happen. With what you’ve told me about him, he should be easy to spot.”
    “What about other man?”
    “You follow him as far as you can without attracting attention. Maybe we can get an idea of what he’s up