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“It’s mighty thin pickings down there for man and beast alike.”
    Too many animals had been left along the creek to forage for themselves while their riders drank away the days and nights until their money or their stomachs gave out.
    â€œMaybe Ab rode one of those mules,” Case said softly. “Maybe I’ll just cut off the snake’s head and let the rest of the body thrash around until it dies of its own accord.”
    Maybe …
    His mouth flattened into a grim line beneath his black beard stubble.
    But not damned likely , he thought. Ab might have been the one who personally savaged Ted and Em before hesold them to the Comancheros, but the rest of his kith and kin didn’t raise a finger to stop him .
    For a few minutes longer Case weighed the advantages and dangers of riding into the settlement.
    If Ab was there, Case would be recognized, but not as one of the “Texicans” who was following the Culpeppers with a saddlebag full of “Wanted Dead or Alive” posters.
    Ab would see him as a gunhand hired in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains by the recently deceased Gaylord Culpepper. The Culpeppers had tried to get a good hideout the easy way—an outright grab of the B Bar and Ladder S ranches from their legal owners.
    The grab had failed, but it had been touch and go for a while.
    What Case didn’t know was whether anyone had figured out that he had been working against the Culpeppers in Nevada.
    If Ab knew, he would shoot Case on sight.
    Only one way to find out , he decided.
    Absently he drew his six-gun, spun the cylinder to check the load once more, holstered the gun, and secured the revolver with a rawhide thong. He pulled a second cylinder from his jacket pocket, saw that it was fully loaded, and put it away once more.
    It would be nice to have Hunter at my back when I ride down there , he thought.
    Then he thought of Elyssa, who loved Hunter as few men were ever privileged to be loved by a woman.
    Better for Hunter to stay in the Rubys. If I don’t come back, no woman will hang crêpe and no kids will go hungry .
    He mounted Cricket with the same economy of movement that he did everything. Until people saw Case standing next to other men, his size wasn’t noticeable. He was just another quiet, easy-moving man who was thoroughly at home on a horse.
    As always, he inspected the enemy territory close up inaddition to his earlier study at a distance. He chose a path down the long rise that would circle the settlement.
    He wasn’t particularly expecting guards or an ambush. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have surprised him. Spanish Church was no place for choirboys.
    The first man he saw was facedown near a huge clump of rabbit brush. He was either dead drunk or dead, period. It was hard to say from a hundred feet away, and that was as close as Case planned on coming.
    Cricket cocked an ear in the man’s direction, snorted, and chose a wide path around him.
    â€œDon’t blame you, boy,” Case said. “I’ve smelled sweeter skunks left out in the sun to dry.”
    Before he went into the saloon, he reined Cricket in a circle around the other grazing animals, checking brands.
    Circle A. Rocking M.
    He recognized the brands instantly. Both were from ranches that were close to Sarah Kennedy’s home. Not very close, however. Calling them neighbors would be stretching the truth thin enough to read newsprint through.
    The owners of the Circle A and Rocking M had settled in the water-rich high country. It was a hard two days’ ride from the stone desert where Hal Kennedy had staked his claim.
    The remaining horses wore brands that were either botched too badly to read or had been deliberately doctored to change the original brand.
    The mules’ shiny sorrel hides weren’t branded at all.
    There were three more horses back up a shady draw, standing three-legged and swatting flies with their long tails. One horse was saddled.