Milo Talon by Louis L’Amour Page A

was growing cooler and the sky had clouded over. It was not yet noon, but by the look of things I should start seeking shelter. Rain was one thing, but any rider out on the plains worried about lightning. Riding a wet horse with a wet saddle and being the highest thing around was not a pleasant thought, but there was simply no place to hide.
    And then I saw it. Just the edge of a heel-print, and not a boot-heel, but a shoe.
    Excited, I leaned from the saddle, studying it. Only an inch or less of the outer side of the heel-print and part of the back-curve. The man had been headed north. Turning my horse I walked him along, searching the ground with my eyes. If I could find two tracks close together so I could estimate his stride the tracking would be easier.
    Nothing.
    Swinging to the west I rode diagonally out for fifty yards, studying the earth. Finding nothing, I swungback an equal distance to the east. Almost at once I picked up a bare inch or so of the curving heel-print. He was headed east now, perhaps a little northeast.
    The ground dipped sharply, falling away into what looked like an ancient riverbed winding away to the southeast. I drew up on the bank, scanning the sandy bottom for tracks. It was hard-packed and smooth, without a blemish. I walked my horse along the rim and was about to turn away west when I saw where the bank had been broken away.
    It was just crumpled sand, but below it were tracks. Somebody had run this way, somebody had gone charging down the too-steep bank and had fallen at the base. There was a dark stain on the sand.
    Putting the gelding over the edge, I half-slid him to the bottom and studied the sand.
    The man had been wounded. Perhaps some time before, possibly just before he fell. These were the first drops of blood I’d seen, however.
    The running man had fallen, got up, fell again, and then got up and turned up the dry riverbed, running and staggering.
    For several hundred yards I walked my horse along his trail. He had fallen many times, each time he got up and continued on. Suddenly there was a place where the bank was broken and several horses had come over the rim.
    The footsteps showed the pitiful story. The running man had turned so violently he had fallen, and then he tried to run.
    He had been roped and dragged, dragged up the river-bottom which grew more rocky by the yard, andthen the horses had all stopped; there was much movement, many horse-tracks, and a caved place near the bank where from under the sand an edge of a boot showed.
    When I moved that sand I knew what I would find.
    But not who.

CHAPTER 9

    T AKING A QUICK glance around, I began uncovering the body. Both the cool weather and the dry sand had helped to arrest decomposition. Finally, when I stood back and looked down at the face, I knew him.
    At least, I remembered him. He had come to Ma’s ranch with two other men, making inquiries about land. One of the men had called him Tut.
    Getting up on the bank, I caved the sand back over him again, and mounting, I rode on. Due to the looseness of the sand at that point there were no well-defined tracks. It looked to me from the way the sand was churned up that there had been at least three riders whose mounts had circled about in the narrow space, probably excited by the smell of blood. There were many hoof tracks, such as they were. I saw one apparent boot-track, probably when the rider got down to take his rope from the body.
    From the way the dead man’s hands had dug into the sand, I doubted he had been dead when the sand was caved over him. It appeared that he had been lying on his face and his hands had convulsively clawed into the firm sand beneath him. He had struggled, apparently getting one knee under him after many efforts, had rolled over and then passed out, smothered asmore sand spilled down over him from the disturbed bank above him.
    Riding on up the old riverbed, I saw no more tracks beyond that of a deer. Climbing out of the arroyo, I swung back