They trailed in slowly, following the tracks. There was not a sign of life, not even the circling buzzards. The sun had passed the head of the canyon now, and the pinnacles threw their long, purple shadows across the depths.
“This damn’ place is like a tomb,” growled Bad News. “It always makes me feel how small I am. I’d like to take some of the big men I’ve heard about, and set ’em down in the middle of this place. I reckon God A’mighty made places like these jist to show yuh how danged insignificant yuh really are.”
“Whoo!” snorted Harry.
He was out of his saddle quickly, and Bad News was not far behind him. Almost blocking their trail was the body of Jane’s brown mare, and fifty feet away, piled on its head, was Cultus Collins’s horse.
Harry dropped on his knees beside the brown mare, while Bad News hunched down on his heels, scanning the surroundings.
“This is Jane’s horse and saddle,” said Harry in a hoarse whisper. “Been shot twice, Bad News. Broken hind leg and a bullet through its head. My God, what happened around here, anyway?”
“That’s Collins’s horse,” replied Bad News, pointing a lean finger at the animal beyond. “Neck busted square off. I reckon we got here too late for the party.”
“But what would Jane be doing here? She was at the ranch when I left there.”
Bad News wiped a sleeve across his sweaty face.
“Did she read that note?” he asked.