The pair of scouts talked amongst themselves, discussing options. Barlow knew better than to interrupt. He had full confidence in their abilities, it's why the Army hired men such as these.

MacIntosh declared, "Captain, we're backtracking to see where they left the main tail, we'll catch up, 'er send up a holler when we find it." The scout informed the officer. " They didn't stay on the trail for very long."

Benjamin nodded in compliance, "Sounds good. We'll stay on the road for now. Just maybe we'll get lucky and come up on some roadside travelers who might just have caught sight of them. Unlikely but once and awhile, even a blind dog finds a bone."

Quentin Cantrell bent over the pan of water, using his hands to splash his face and neckerchief, wringing out the square of fabric and using it to dab at his face before he laid the wet item on the back of his neck. Quentin had been out with some of the hands moving cattle, tightening up the scattered herds closer to the ranch and settling them into some untouched pastures to improve their diet. The day was warm and most of the riders scattered around the yard had a nice coating of dust from the riding they had been doing.

"Say...look at that..."

Quentin stood up and wiped his eyes with the cloth, squinting toward the main gate of the ranch. The riderless horse made him stop moving and stare. A familiar feeling of dread washed across him but Quentin tried to dismiss it. Horses and riders sometimes became separated for innocuous reasons, but not very often. Men who had any control of a situation tended to not let their mounts get loose if they could help it.

Quentin saw a hand sitting his horse not far from the gate and he stuck his fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The hand's head snapped around in his direction and Quentin waved a arm at the loose horse. The hand nodded and spurred off, moving to intercept the mount as Quentin and the handful of men with him walked out of the yard area and toward the gate as the mounted hand caught up to the horse and he grabbed the hanging rein, turning and then walking toward the ranch gate, the horse trotting along behind him obediently. The hand reined up as he reached Quentin and his group.

Quentin reached up and rubbed the side of the horse's head and nose. His eyes moved along the saddle and tack but it didn't look familiar offhand. "Whose horse is this?" He asked, looking around at the other hands.

A few of the men moved close and looked the horse over, one man lifted up a stirrup and he made a sound of discovery. "This is Hap Benyon's gear..." Quentin turned to regard the man. He shrugged as he realized he was suddenly the center of attention. "Hap's fairly new. He was riding up along the North Pastures. Hap was convinced there's been some wolves stalking some of the cattle up there. He took it personally that they were hunting 'his' cows."

Quentin grinned. He remembered the young hand with that description. "Boys, these cows belong to all of us. I respect him taking ownership like that..." His face then grew serious as he saw some hands rummaging in the saddlebags. The men turned to look at him. "Not much in either one, Sir...No food, no ammunition, no money. Only some tools and random things. Not even any extra clothes."

Quentin considered their findings. "That tells me something more than an accident happened." He rubbed his chin. "Boys, we're going back out. Grab some food and water and ammunition. Meet back at the front gate in fifteen minutes, mounted and ready to ride..."

Hands scattered in all directions and Quentin hurried into the house. He grabbed up his own saddlebags and his Mare's Leg from its hanging peg on the wall in the gun room. He scooped up a few boxes of shells and stopped by the kitchen to shove some random food into the other saddlebag. His oilskin and jacket were already tied up on the back of his saddle on Paladin. Quentin paused to buckle on the back scabbard for the Mare's Leg and shove it into place. He checked both his revolvers and knife, making sure all were tied down and secure.

A few minutes later, Quentin reined up at the front gate. Around a dozen hands sat their horses waiting for him to give orders. He glanced around at the men who were present. "We're looking for Hap, but keep your eyes open. Whatever or whoever happened to him may still be around and looking for another target..." Quentin broke the group into teams of 4 and sent them to the likely trails around the North Pastures. Finally he pointed at the last team. "You gentlemen come with me. We're going to hopefully follow his horse's tracks back to wherever he got separated from the horse." Quentin spoke up louder before dismissing the men. "Anyone find anything...fire three shots and sit tight until more help arrives. Move out!"

The group of riders headed out of the gate in a mass, but the smaller groups broke away and headed up various roads and trails. Quentin and his group rode up along the main rode, following the line of hoof prints in the dirt as they climbed away from the Ranch.

Quentin Cantrell sat his horse in the middle of the trail. He looked around and then down at the ground. It was obvious that several horses had been at this spot recently. The hooves marred over each other and obscured the trail. Quentin's eye also picked out bootprints scattered among the mess, indicating some people were on foot at some point. Quentin had sent the riders with him in different directions off the trail and further up in the direction opposite the one they had approached from.

Quentin's head shot around at the sound of a loud whistle in the nearby woods. He spurred Paladin in the direction and reined up beside Collins' mount. He dismounted and walked over to where Collins knelt beside Hap Benyon's body. Cantrell exhaled as he stopped and got a good look at his rider. Benyon lay on his back, his open eyes staring on either side of the bullet hole that had destroyed his nose. Another hole was evident surrounded by blood on his chest.

"Damn...bastards..." Quentin muttered as he looked at the dead young man. The scalping just seemed to add insult to the killing. Cantrell pulled a bandana from his pocket and wiped at the sweat. He pulled one of his revolvers and pointed it at the sky. He fired a single shot to bring the rest of his group back toward him. As Quentin reloaded the fired round and re-holstered, Collins looked up after finishing looking over the body.

"Boss...something's not right..."

Quentin knelt down beside his hand. "What do you mean?"

The other man rubbed his chin and then pointed. "A couple things. One, why shoot him twice? An Indian wouldn't waste a round. Ammunition's not cheap and pretty hard for redskins to get..." Quentin nodded at the question as Collins reached and pointed at the scalping. "Two...look at his. An Indian will only hurry and make a messy scalping if it's in the middle of a fight or he's afraid of being chased, shot, or worse. Hap would have died from either bullet he took, and if they were worried, they had knives to finish him with. Why not take your time and make a nice scalp to show off?"

Quentin's mouth curved in an expression of agreement. "Good point. We know from his horse they took ammunition, his rifle and pistol, and some basics from the saddlebags..." Quentin reached and patted along Benyon's clothes, coming up with a pocket watch and a few dollars in paper and coin. "this could be quite a bit of food from a trader, or more ammunition. Why not search him better? It's not like they would be disturbed." Quentin used Benyon's own bandana to wrap around the watch and money, then he pushed it back into one of the dead hand's pants pockets.

Quentin stood and glanced around at the men who had accompanied him. He looked at a young skinny cowboy next to him.

"Smitty. Ride back to Lost Lake. Tell them what happened here and grab a few hands. Bring back one of the wagons. Put a bunch of blankets in it to cushion the body and get back here as quick as you can." The young man turned and ran for his horse that still stood on the main path up the hill. He mounted and took off in a cloud of dust back toward the ranch.

As Smitty's hoof beats faded, Collins stood up and looked in the opposite direction. His head tilted and then he spoke low.

"Riders...half dozen or so..." Even as he was speaking, Quentin could pick out the sound himself. He grabbed Paladin's rein and began tugging the horse deeper into the trees, waving at the other hands to do the same. The men all grabbed their horses followed Cantrell. He saw the others grabbing their Winchesters and lining among the trees where they could see the road. Quentin looped Paladin's rein around a tree limb and drew his Mare's Leg. Quentin worked the lever and crouched at the end of his men, watching the road and listening to the growing hoof beats...

"Soldiers coming!" He shouted, "Army scout, have an Indian with me! Don't shoot!"

Cantrell could see the lone rider was not an Indian, so he let out a whistle and waved a hand at his men to hold their fire. He stepped out onto the trail where the other man could see him, holding the Mare's Leg ready but not pointing it as the newcomer as the he walked his horse closer. Cantrell looked past the man toward the thicker woods behind him. He couldn't pick out anyone but he wouldn't be surprised if he was not alone. Quentin let the man get closer so he didn't have to yell.

"What's an Army patrol doing so far from the fort?"