Free Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter by William W. Johnstone

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    Luke went into the barn, found a lantern, lit it, and looked around until he found an old blanket in the tack room. He used it to wrap the man’s body and then carried the body into the barn and put it in the tack room, closing the door to keep predators out. In the morning he would dig a grave.
    The only livestock in the barn was an old milk cow. Any horses the rancher had owned were gone, no doubt taken by Kelly and Dog Eater. A small flock of chickens was sleeping in a coop at the side of the barn, undisturbed by the violence and death that had descended on their home.
    If Luke happened to pass a neighboring ranch, he would stop and let the people know what had happened. Until then, the cow and the chickens would have to fend for themselves. He would turn the cow loose in the morning so it could find some graze.
    With those decisions made, he led his horse a quarter mile from the ranch and made camp again. He could still smell the burned-out house and didn’t care for that. He had seen and smelled too many buildings that had suffered a similar fate during the siege of Richmond, when the big guns of Ulysses S. Grant and the Yankee army had pounded the city relentlessly for weeks on end. For a long time after that, he hadn’t been able to get the bitter scent of ashes out of his nose.
    He had learned to ignore the things that bothered him, so he was able to sleep. It was a light slumber, though. He didn’t expect Kelly and Dog Eater to return to the scene of their latest crime, but anything was possible.
    Because of that natural, instinctive alertness, Luke was able to come awake instantly when his horse let out a quiet whinny and shifted around a little. The animal had smelled or heard something, and Luke trusted the horse’s senses. As soon as his eyes opened, he reached out and closed his hand around the butt of one of the Remingtons where his gun belt lay coiled on the ground beside him.
    He drew the revolver with just the faintest whisper of steel on leather. His thumb looped over the hammer, ready to pull it back as he lay there listening intently.
    He heard the faint thud of a hoof on the ground. The sound came from far enough away that he knew it wasn’t his horse who had made it. Another horse was out there in the darkness.
    A glance at the sky told Luke it was about an hour until dawn. He had been asleep for a while. He turned his head where he lay with it pillowed on his saddle. He could see the barn and what was left of the ranch house. The front door had burned, and through the opening that was left he saw a scattering of orange embers, the only remnants of the blaze that had consumed the inside of the dwelling.
    Nobody was moving around over there.
    The sound he’d heard had come from the other direction. Someone was moving up on his trail, and he recalled the feeling of being watched he’d had the day before. Whoever was following had caught up to him. They had probably used the flames to guide them, just as he had.
    He heard another faint sound, the scuff of boot leather on dirt. The follower had left his horse and was advancing on foot. Luke knew that just as well as if he’d been watching the scene in broad daylight.
    Breathing shallowly, he lay motionless and silent and let the unseen man come closer to him. The hombre moved pretty quietly overall, Luke had to give him credit for that, although not quietly enough to escape notice by a professional man hunter.
    Finally, the man was close enough for Luke to see his dark shape creeping along. Starlight winked on the barrel of the rifle the man was carrying. If that rifle had swung toward him, Luke would have tipped up the Remington and fired from the ground. The man continued holding the rifle at a slant across his chest, though, instead of getting ready to use it.
    The figure was only about five feet away, lined up on a course that would take him within a step or two of the spot where Luke was lying,