Death's Horse Throws A Shoe

Part 5

Sheriff Davis and his posse followed the hoof tracks out of town and into the plains. Travis led the group, never taking his eyes off the ground. The old tracker stopped occasionally and would mumble under his breath, then suddenly change directions. With each change, Davis wondered if the drunk had lost the ability to follow a trail. All that drinking could not be good for a person and Travis had seen quite a few winters.

Travis veered again and cursed loudly.

"What's the problem, Travis?" Davis called.

"Cagey, this one. Real cool. He's doubling back, leaving false trails," Travis replied not looking away from the ground.

"You can track him right?"

"Yep. We'll have to do it a different way. Give me another mile and I'll see where he's really going."

Davis was not sure they could afford the time but he did not want to lose his prey, so he agreed. They followed along as Travis moved and stopped, then moved and stopped. After about an hour, Travis looked up and pointed toward the hills.

"He's goin' that way toward them hills. If he keeps up his to and fro, we'll be able to catch up easy enough. We'll have to run pretty hard to catch him before he makes the forest."

"Well, let's get going then!" Davis gave a shout and took off at the fastest run his horse could maintain in the uneven ground.

The posse ran hard, ready to capture the man that made them look like fools. Even though there were not close to their quarry, their rifles were out and determined looks on the faces of each of the group. The sun climbed higher and it began to warm up. The horses began to sweat and the men even more so, the wind was their only reprieve.

Davis had only one thing on his mind: get Jeb Malik, hang his proper and climb the ladder of frontier success. The town would benefit, but most of all he would benefit.

The posse rounded a bend and saw a lone figure on a horse in the distance, close to the foot of the hills. It was him, Davis knew it. He could almost see the smirk on the man's face as he thought he had gotten away scott-free. Davis smiled and without slowing down leveled his Winchester and took a shot. He missed by several feet. He had been too excited and now Malik was alerted. They saw Jeb break for the trees and a couple of the group took shots of their own. Each missed, but they were getting closer. Davis hoped that they could wing him. He wanted him alive. When they caught him, he would make sure that Jeb knew who it was that finally put an end to his lawlessness: Sheriff John Davis, the next mayor of Copperton and the man who got Malik.

They got closer and closer as Jeb pushed harder towards the trees. The posse fired repeatedly even after Malik rode into the forest. The riders stopped at the edge and unloaded their remaining ammo into the forest. Davis kicked his horse and made for the trees when Travis called out.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

"He's getting away!"

"Then you let him go. The Indians will get him sure enough, but if we go in there, they're sure to get us too."

"Coward," spat Davis.

"Maybe, but I'm still alive ain't I? At least, I know well enough when to stay outta places I don't belong. And I don't belong in there. Neither do you if you know what's good for ya." Travis turned his horse and rode back towards town.

Sheck and two others snapped their reins and moved slowly among the trees. Davis followed, his eyes moving left and right trying to spy any movement among the pines. They had gone in a few hundred feet when Sheck called out. They had found blood. Davis' heart sped up. They had hit Malik and he could not get away now. Davis caught up to where Sheck had stopped and saw the blood trail. He whooped and made to follow when an arrow buried itself dead center in Sheck's chest. Sheck fell off of his horse and the others turned tail and ran. Another arrow caught Davis through the forearm as he made to flee. He dropped his Winchester and kicked his mount into dead run, laying close to its neck to make a smaller target. Poor, Sheck. He felt bad about leaving him behind, but his own life was more important than dragging a fallen deputy all the way back to town with a pack of Indians on his tail.