Page 74 of The Heart’s Charge

Mark shared a look with Jonah. His partner’s stoic expression gave little away, but the slight tightening around his mouth made it clear that he was unenthused by the prospect of company. Mark concurred. However, he couldn’t argue with the fact that locals were more likely to open up to a man with a badge.

“I’m glad you’re finally showing some interest in this case,” Mark said wryly.

The deputy’s gaze narrowed. “You sayin’ I’ve been derelict in my duty? I poked around in Honey Creek last week, just like Sheriff Porter asked. Found no evidence of increased outlaw activity. No reports of missing kids. What else did you expect me to do?”

Mark expected him to show a little more initiative. Ask more questions. Dig deeper. Though, to be fair, if Jonah hadn’t been on hand when the snatchers attempted to take Rawley, the Horsemen probably wouldn’t have much to go on at this point either. They’d been in the right place at the right time to gain valuable insight as well as a group of insider allies. Bronson hadn’t had that advantage.

“You’re right,” Mark said. “You’ve done what was expected. I shouldn’t have insinuated otherwise.” Bronson looked slightly mollified at the apology. “And we appreciate your escort this morning. It will save us time to have someone along who knows the area.”

Bronson wasted no time moving his mount to the front of the group. “Best if you let me do the talkin’.”

“We’ll let you take the lead,” Mark hedged. He had little confidence in the deputy’s interviewing skill. If he and Jonah had questions to ask, they’d ask them.

For the next four hours, Deputy Bronson led them up and down Honey Creek, knocking on every homesteader’s door they came to. Unfortunately, they turned up nothing that pointed them toward Miguel Ortega.

When they stopped to water their horses, Jonah drew Mark aside, out of the deputy’s earshot.

“We need to go farther west,” Jonah said in a low voice as he lifted his canteen to his mouth and took a drink. He tossed a quick glance Bronson’s way, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Closer to Fern’s cabin.”

Mark patted Cooper’s neck. Dust billowed out from the horse’s light gray coat. “I agree. The settlers around here are too civilized. We need to find the rougher crowd. Men more of Ortega’s ilk.”

“Trouble is, men of that sort ain’t too keen on bein’ found.”

Mark grinned. “So we find us some high ground and let you scout them out.”

“I don’t think the deputy there will be too keen on that plan,” Jonah said as he turned in a slow circle, eyeing the landscape for possibilities. “Fella seems determined to avoid outlaw types. We’ve seen nothin’ but respectable folks all mornin’.” Something to the south caught his eye. “Highest ground is there.” He nodded toward Packsaddle Mountain.

It was more of a large hill than a mountain, but it was the nearest elevation available. The dip in the middle mimicked the dip in a saddle, giving the local landmark its name. Traveling there would take them away from Honey Creek and in the opposite direction of Fern’s cabin, which lay northwest toward Llano, but it offered the best visibility. The day was already more than half gone. If they were going to change tactics, they needed to do it now.

“Bronson.” Mark waved the deputy over. “Jonah and I are going to head south, search out a rougher crowd.”

“Ain’t nothing south o’ here except open country. You won’t find anything that way. Best if we keep on to the north. There’s a family a couple miles down the road. They got kids. They might know something.”

“Good thought. Why don’t we split up to cover more ground?” Mark suggested. “You check in with any other families you can think of in the area, and we’ll hunt down whatever outlaws we can find.”

Bronson shook his head. “Bad idea. Even if you did manage to find an outlaw den, I can’t have you go stirrin’ things up. I’m responsible for the safety of the folks back in Kingsland. The outlaws don’t cause us no trouble so long as we leave them alone. That might change if you two start pokin’ around.”

“We’ll be careful,” Mark assured him even as he stuck his foot in the stirrup and mounted Cooper. They weren’t asking for permission. Or company. A fact that seemed to register on the deputy’s face when his scowl darkened.

Jonah mounted Augustus, and he and Mark set off to the south, leaving Deputy Bronson stewing at the creek.

After a quarter hour, they left the main road and followed a thin trail Jonah had spotted that led up one of the steeper sections of Packsaddle Mountain. The incline forced them to a slow pace, but the horses proved hardy and marched on without growing winded. After about twenty minutes, they came to a fork in the trail and reined in their mounts.

“Which way, do you think?” Mark asked.

The trail to the left looked overgrown, while the trail to the right sported flattened grass and well-worn dirt.

Jonah twisted in his saddle to scout the Honey Creek area below them, then glanced back at the mountain, examining each path. “Left,” he finally decided. “Trail ain’t as pretty, but it’ll offer the better view.”

Mark nodded and turned Cooper to the left. The two horses continued picking their way up the side of the mountain. The terrain grew steeper, with more rocks and less grass the higher they climbed. Mark shifted his weight forward in the saddle. Up ahead, the path widened enough for two horses to stand side by side. Mark signaled Jonah to come abreast of him, then moved to the inside of the path.

“This a good enough lookout point?”

Jonah scanned the valley below. “Should be. Aren’t too many trees in this area to block rooflines or cook-fire smoke.” He pointed to the landscape. “We already covered that eastern section, so I can ignore that. I see a few dots to the west that could be buildings.” His hand shifted that direction, but Mark failed to see anything distinctive.

“I’ll get the field glasses.” As Mark turned and reached for his right saddlebag, a tiny shower of gravel rolled down the side of the mountain next to his leg.

He jerked his gaze upward, the brim of his hat tipping back just enough for him to catch a glimpse of a black horse with white, spotted hindquarters uphill from where a black-clad arm extended a rifle barrel over the top of a large rock thirty yards above them.