Morning came early. Matt Starr climbed out his blankets, stood and started to gather up his gear. The sky was just beginning to tinge with gray over the eastern horizon. By the time he had his morning coffee and slab of bacon, put out what was left of his campfire, saddled up and tied down the rest of his gear behind the saddle, streaks of dawning sunlight cast just enough light to make travel safe.
Matt’s guests from the night before had not seemed to care about the dangers of traveling at night and had ridden off with their prisoner several hours ago.
If Matt did not have more pressing matters to attend to, he might have taken more interest in finding out what Sheriff Tom Vestry was up to.
Obviously, he was not a dedicated lawman. Perhaps, even a corrupt one. And, what had really happened between him and The Wildcat Gang?
He knew Kitty and Cyclone and the others well. He knew they would never kill for any reason, if they could help it.
Granted, he hadn’t seen them for quite some time before they appeared and broke up his wedding. Could they have changed that much?
He didn’t think so, but the last time he had seen Kitty, he had just killed someone who obviously meant more than a little to her. Perhaps that was enough to push her over the line and become a real outlaw. Not that she wasn’t already an outlaw in the eyes of the law, but he was convinced that Kitty and her gang were not bad people. Kitty had been wronged and she seeked retribution, if not justice, as she saw it.
No, he told himself. Vestry had to be mistaken or maybe he was lying. But, why?
First he had a job to do. Then he would look up Tom Vestry and get to the truth. He swung up into the saddle, pulled hard on the reins to turn the sorrel onto the trail. First thing he noticed was that Vestry and his deputy and prisoner had also gone in this same direction. Their tracks were clear and fresh in the dew damped earth.
“He’s had time to rise and shine,” Tom Vestry said. “He’s not the kind to waste any daylight. He should be along anytime now.”
Vestry, Miller and Tyrene were huddled close behind a large boulder at the top of a ridge overlooking the trail below. Tyrene was no longer tied. He held a rifle in his hands, as did the two men wearing stars. The difference was, that Tyrene’s rifle was not loaded.
“You sure, he’s the one?” Tyrene asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Vestry answered. His eyes were still fixed on the trail below. “Hell, he said he was Matthew Starr, didn’t he. He probably thought he was putting one over on us by not identifying himself as a marshal. Good thing I finally remembered the name. I’m just sorry it didn’t dawn on me until I had ranted on about The Wildcats. He was just pretending to not to know anything about them. He was suspicious of us and was sizing up the situation. I don’t think he tumbled to the fact I was on to him. I don’t think he knew that we was trailing The Wildcats.
“I’ve got a score to settle with that bunch and there is still a matter of a hundred thousand dollars they stole from me. Now that we know they’re around here someplace, we’ll just find them ourselves.”
“Why don’t we just trail Starr, then?” Miller asked. “He’s on their trail right now. All we got to do is keep following him.”
“We don’t need Starr around gettin’ in our way,” Vestry said. “Best, we finish him here once and for all. We can follow the trail without him.”
He had no sooner spoken those words when he snapped to attention. “And there he is.” Vestry grinned as he pulled himself closer to the boulder, bracing the barrel of his Winchester against the rock. He relaxed from the tension of waiting and breathed a comforting sigh of relief.
Matt Starr had just come into view as he rounded a bend in the trail a hundred yards away.
Miller crouched close, steadying his own rifle.
Down on the trail Matt was meandering along at a slow trot, watching the trail beneath and ahead of him. He was sure he was on The Wildcat’s trail. There was still evidence of six horses passing through here, probably late in the day, the day before. Vestry and his companions had probably veered off the same trail, for signs of their passing had disappeared some time ago.
As they neared the spot in the trail just beneath the embankment and rocky ridge, the sorrel seemed to sense something and his gait faltered. Matt tugged at the reins and felt the horse’s resistance. The animal’s ears had pricked up sharply.
Then, simultaneously, Matt became aware of something wrong and as his gaze turned toward the ridge, sunlight glinted off metal and shots rang out; two rifles firing as one.
He felt the power of a slug slam into him and he pitched sideways out the saddle, thudding to the hard packed ground.
The sorrel stamped and milled about with a shrieking whinny. The last thing, Matt Starr saw was the sorrel’s iron shod hooves pounding the ground and kicking up dust in front of his eyes. Then all went black and he felt nothing.
The three men up on the ridge stood up and strode out from the cover of the big boulder. “I guess that’s the end of that bastard,” Vestry said with a victorious grin spreading across his wide face as he gazed down at the man lying in the dust, just beyond the sorrel. The horse had settled down and was nosing his master with a soft moist nuzzle. Matt Starr’s prone body lie still and lifeless without response.
“Come on,” Vestry ordered, triumph in his voice. “Let’s get out of here.”
****
Chapter Seventeen