Chapter 4 #3
“Our guy fled on foot.” Cutter passed him the grulla’s reins.
“If you don’t mind leading him for a skosh.
I need to follow on foot for a few minutes at least.” He pointed south with an open hand.
“Teague has the last-known track pointing this way. Our guy could have juked right or left into that brush, but he’s pressed and not likely thinking things through.
The terrain will likely dictate which way he goes.
” Cutter took a few steps, looking for anything that might be a track—bruised grass, overturned stones with moisture beneath, crushed insects not long dead.
Where there were tracks, they were too many. He found nothing of value.
He took the grulla’s reins from Smith and speared a stirrup with the toe of his boot to swing into the saddle. The horse gave an overly melodramatic groan at Cutter’s added hundred and seventy-five pounds.
Sheriff’s posse volunteer Willard Hansen wheeled his horse, a skinny bay mare that huffed and puffed like she was severely annoyed at carrying the potbellied rancher.
“Town Creek runs through that line of big cottonwoods,” he said.
“Dixon Branch is due north, but it forks all over hell and back.” He stood in the stirrups and got his bearings, drawing another impatient whoof from his mount.
“The creek will box us in on three sides. Pretty much the same thing on the north side of the road. Couple of forks go nearly to the Interstate. It’s been awful dry since May, but all that rain we had this spring will give us plenty of pools to contend with. ”
Cutter pushed back his hat again and wiped his forehead with a bandanna.
“Boss,” he said to Smith. “It’d be a good idea to have a couple of guys ride the creek beds to the north.
They should work their way from that side of Bankhead to the Interstate while we check these creeks to the south.
If there is any sign, one of us will come across it. ”
They rode for another two hours. The ranches were large enough they only had to cut barbed-wire fence twice. Willard, himself a rancher, had a handful of loose staples and a pair of fence pliers in his saddlebags. He hung back to mend the cuts each time.
Stands of live oak and prickly pear cactus gave way to tall cottonwood and briar patches as they neared the water. Cutter couldn’t help but feel a bunch of lawmen on horseback would be fine targets if their outlaw decided to make this his Alamo.
He paid attention to his horse’s ears—good radar for hidden dangers—and pushed on toward the creek.
Gnarled mustang grape vines, some as big around as a horse’s foreleg, trailed from the treetops.
Cutter had spent hours fishing and hunting in just such bottomland as a boy.
Insects hummed and clicked, buzzing in clouds amid the humid shadows of the woods.
Squirrels chattered. Deer bolted through the brush—all good news when it came to not getting ambushed.
Bad news when they were looking for an outlaw.
No human had come through here recently.
Cutter led the way, charging into the thick of it. He dipped his head now and again to keep from getting his hat knocked off by hanging vines.
Twice, Cutter’s hand dropped to his pistol when his horse’s ears perked up. It had seen or heard something in the brush. A red fox flushed out of the briars. A moment later, a white-tail deer melted into the brush.
Cutter sloshed into a mossy green pool and paused, giving the horse its head, letting it drink. Not too much—the grulla was a known water hog, and he didn’t want to founder his boss’s horse. He trotted back to the rest of the party and reined to a stop beside Chief Smith.
“I’m getting nothing,” he said. “We’ve ridden all the creek beds that bound our search area.
Sounds like the guys on the north side of the road are coming up empty as well.
I hate to say it, but there’s a chance our bad guy got picked up by someone from the get-go.
He likely fled before the highway patrol got to the car. ”
Smith wheeled his gray in a circle, giving himself a full 360 look at the terrain while he thought. “You’re thinking there was a second vehicle involved in the robbery?”
Cutter crossed his hands over the saddle horn and leaned forward, taking some of the pressure off his back.
“I think we have to consider that possibility. The guy I just shot said the driver of the Crown Vic was young and, I’m quoting here, would get us all arrested.
Not both but all.” Cutter shrugged. “I could be reading a lot into that, but …”
“All?” Smith said. “You’re sure he said, us all?”
“Yep.”
“Well, balls!” Smith said. “They’re getting skunked at the roadblocks too. If you’re not seeing any tracks, I’m afraid there are no tracks to be seen. The sumbitch slipped away before we had time to set up our net.”
“Afraid so,” Cutter said. “Listen, Chief, I know the sheriff’s got Morton and Garza working the robbery, but I’d like to swing by and take a look.”
“By all means,” Smith said. “Snoop around and see what you can figure out.”
“The medical examiner pick up the bodies yet?” Cutter asked.
“Nope.” Smith sucked in air through clenched teeth.
“It’s pretty damned bleak in this heat. Let me be clear about this; Garza and Morton are processing the crime scene, but the sheriff wants you to lead the manhunt.
Track down the bastards who did this.” The chief pulled his hat lower.
“And frankly, Wayne, he’s not particular on how healthy they are when you bring ’em in. ”
“It’ll be a job,” Cutter said. “These guys got five million in diamonds. I’m sure they’re long gone by now.”