About one block away from the Phelps' house, Moose Murdoch stopped and motioned for the crowd behind him to do the same. "McCormick, since you think you're the law at the moment, you come here a minute. The rest of you just stay put."

Some of Tanner's men began to protest along with some of the townsfolk who had followed along in order to satisfy their morbid curiosities. Moose continued saying, "Both of my sons are damn good trackers but Shane is probably the best anywhere around. I take it Lieutenant, you ain't got no decent trackers with ya or you'd a caught up with Lancer by now. That bein' the case, I think it'd be best if'n just you, me, an Shane looked over the scene first, afore this crowd gets ta messin' up all the tracks and evidence."

"Sounds reasonable." McCormick said, then ordered the crowd to stay back, and some of his soldiers to make certain that they obeyed.

The crowd protested, but none attempted to get by the soldiers who were now backed up by the formidable figure of Brazos Murdoch, along with the Murdoch hands.

Morgan Tanner however, pushed through the crowd and said, "I'm coming as well. I'm not entirely certain that I trust Murdoch's judgment. For all I know, he may be friendly with Captain Fogg. After all, his son over there, was seen fraternizing with Nighthawk yesterday at the cafe." Tanner remarked, referring to Brazos.

"Hell, I really don't give a shit what YOU think Tanner, but I reckon you can come along, but you stay the hell outa my way." Moose warned harshly.

"I'll want a couple of my own men to examine the evidence as well. Chico Portalis has done some tracking, and so has Colt Ballard, who has served his country in the capacity of lawman on numerous occasions." Tanner continued, pointedly ignoring Murdoch's insult.

"I suggest you allow them, Murdoch. It might prevent complications later on." McCormick advised.

"It'll more'n likely cause 'em, far as I can see, but what the hell. Come on." Murdoch growled, and they proceeded the remainder of the distance to the house.

When they arrived, they found both the editor and photographer for the Tribune present, the photographer taking pictures of the body and the overall scene, while the editor, Jeremiah Morris, was jotting down notes as fast as he could write.

Shane and Moose carefully examined the grisly scene, their tracker's eyes skillfully taking in every detail. As Shane and Moose were going over the site, both Chico Portalis and Colt Ballard were scouting the evidence as well, however, from different perspectives. "What is your opinion, Chico?" Tanner asked the pistolero.

"Eet ees obvious, Senor Tanner. Loook at the moccasin tracks. Eet was Nighthawk. He shoot off the shereeff's toes, an scalp heem, an then, he stake out the shereeff on the groun' an light a fire between hees legs. He ees half Indio an he carry a bow an arrow weeth heem on hees horse. Joo can see the dog. Eet has arrow een eet's heart. Hee keel the dog so eet no wake up the Reveren' an hees wife. Then he hang the shereef an cut hees belly opeen. Then he ride south to find hees compadres, the Foggs."

"I think that about sums it up, Lieutenant. It was obviously Lance Nighthawk who perpetrated this crime. Who else could have fired an arrow with such accuracy, in order to immediately silence the dog with the first shot? As Portalis said, Nighthawk is half Indian, and has lived with various tribes over the years. Also, who hasn't heard the stories concerning the methods he employed in order to extract information from prisoners during the war. Obviously, the man's genitals have been destroyed by fire. Not only that, but on numerous occasions, the Foggs were known to shoot off their captive's toes for sport. Reverend Phelps was the reason Sheriff Orr ordered Nighthawk out of town in the first place, and several people observed him spitting on the ground between the Reverend's feet as he walked by, and,--- they heard his parting threats to Sheriff Orr as well."

Colt Ballard, on the other hand, removed his hat and scratched his head, somewhat perplexed. He worked for the Tanner brand, but, as much as Tanner would like his own explanation to be true, it didn't stack upno matter how great it sounded on the surface. True, Nighthawk would at first seem like the prime suspect, but after what Colt had seen, the facts simply didn't add up. He had no idea who might have done it, but he was fairly sure, that it wasn't Nighthawk.

Moose Murdoch frowned at Tanner then, turning to his son Shane asked, "What do you think son?"

"It wasn't Nighthawk, that much is certain." Shane said quietly.

"Just what the hell are you saying? Who else could fire an arrow with such accuracy, and who else would have the motive?" Tanner asked in exasperation.

"I can shoot a bow an arrow that well, so can my brother and my father. For that matter, so could Zach Baynes or Jesse Logan." Replied Shane.

"That's the same conclusions I came to." Moose said. "Shane, go pull that arrow outa that dog, an bring it here. Moose ordered. Shane did so, and Moose commented, "Wasn't buried very deep was it?"

"Nope, just barely pierced the heart." Shane replied.

Moose continued. "First of all, Lieutenant, look at the tracks. True, they are moccasin tracks, and Nighthawk wears moccasins. But, we have all seen Nighthawk. He's a very big hombre. About as tall as my son Shane here. There's no one around here who's that tall, the closest one bein' my other son Brazos. Look at the footprints."

They walked over and Moose had Shane make a print next to the moccasined print left by the sheriff's murderer. He then made a print in the dirt of his own, next to another of the murderer's. Notice, Lieutenant, Shane's footprint is bigger and longer than the killer's. In fact, so's my own."

Moose then took off his boot since his stocking foot would more closely approximate a moccasined track, and made another footprint next to the killer's. See there, even barefooted, my track's bigger and longer than the killer's. Now I got a good look at Nighthawk the other day. His feet are at least as big as Shane's here, an Shane's feet are bigger an longer than my own, or anyone else's hereabouts. This fella's feet are about your size, I'd guess." Moose said, pointing to Tanner. "Take your boot off an make a print right next ta one a his, Tanner."

Tanner reluctantly complied with the request. Sure enough, the tracks were about the same size although Tanner's was considerably narrower. "Just a moment, Murdoch. You do not mean to imply that I committed this atrocity do you?" Tanner asked through clenched teeth.

"Nope. Just makin' the point that Nighthawk's feet were not the ones that made these tracks. The man that made these tracks was a big man, like you, but not nearly as big or heavy as Nighthawk. Another thing, McCormick, Tanner pointed out that some of the sheriff's toes had been shot off. Well, that wasn't the Fogg gang's tactics as a whole, but rather Dancin' Jack Haylock's in particular. That's how come he got the moniker of Dancin' Jack. 'Cause he liked ta hang hardnosed prisoners from a tree an shoot at their toes ta make 'em dance. I never heard tell a any of the others, includin' Nighthawk, enjoyin' the same sport. Far as I know, that was Haylock's special pleasure. Course we don't know where this happened yet, but if there's a tree with a limb suitable fer that purpose, I'll eat my words. We'll find that out soon enough though. But right now, my words are this: Haylock wasn't there, and neither was Nighthawk. Haylock didn't shoot toes off unless the man was hanging and kicking. That's where and why he got his nickname. Hell, if the man couldn't move his legs around, there wouldn't have been any sport in it and Haylock wouldn't have had any interest in shooting the hombre's toes off in the first place. He'd simply have let Nighthawk interrogate whoever it was to get whatever they wanted to know out of em. To him, there had to be sport in it.

Another thing, Lieutenant, This arrow here is made like an Apache would make an arrow. It's shorter and the arrowhead's smaller than any of the plains Indians. That's cause the plains Indians hunt buffalo, with their bows an arrows. This arrow could never bring down a buffalo, nor could the bow that fired it. Apache bows are smaller, as a rule, and don't have as hard or long a pull to 'em as those a the Comanche, Cheyenne, Dakota Sioux, or any of the other plains tribes that hunt buffalo. That's 'cause the Apache around these parts hardly ever hunt 'em, an they don't hunt 'em as much cause they mostly operate on foot instead of from horseback. That's because most of the plains tribes depend on the buffalo for their survival. The Apaches, can survive on almost anything, and the buffalo or the horse means little to them as far as that goes."

"Just what is that supposed to prove, Mr. Murdoch?" Tanner asked sarcastically.

"Nighthawk, has lived with several tribes over the years, but all of 'em were plains or mountain tribes, and all a them were buffalo hunters. He's lived with Comanche, Cheyenne, and the last tribe was the Blackfeet up in Montana. Now all of 'em have slightly different bows an arrows, but all of 'em carry bows that have a hard enough pull ta them ta bury an arrow all the way inta a buffalo's heart. An Apache's bow, can't do that unless it was a mighty young buffalo, the bow is specially made fer that purpose, or the Indian was a standin' right next to 'em. None of them reasons happen often, even though sometimes they do. Also, the arrows themselves fired from a plains Indian's bow are longer than the Apache's are. I saw Nighthawk's bow strapped ta the back a his horse yesterday, an so did my sons. Its a Sioux style bow, at least a good foot in a half longer than any Apache bow. Its too long fer the arrow that was shot inta the dog. If ya loaded that arrow inta Nighthawk's bow an pulled it all the way back, the arrow would be too short ta fire. But if ya put a Blackfoot or any other plains Indian's arrow in it, that bow woulda buried the arrow ta the hilt in the dog's chest. If'n it had been Nighthawk's..."

"Alright, Murdoch, I see your point. But if it wasn't Nighthawk, who do you think it was?" asked McCormick.

"Lieutenant, I got me an idea, but I ain't prepared ta say just yet. But to me, it shore looks like someone wants this murder pinned on Nighthawk mighty bad." Murdoch said, but he was staring pointedly at Morgan Tanner when he said it.

"This is all nonsense! McCormick, it is your duty to gather your men and ride out to arrest that Nighthawk. He can then be tried, and if he's innocent, he will be released. Nevertheless, he is the only real suspect, and the only man around who's capable of such atrocities."

"I'd suggest that you hold off, Lieutenant. Right now, me an the boys gotta attend to a funeral over ta Bolton's spread. But, I figure I'll have Brazos and some of my hands wait here until Bolton's got his dead, ready ta travel. Looks as if they'll be headin' in the same direction as this back-trail leads anyhow. We'll have a look at the sight and get back to 'em afterwards and head on with Bolton to the ranch. Right now, me an Shane'll back track this fella's trail ta wherever he butchered the sheriff. I'll follow the trail from here, and Shane can follow it from wherever the killer grabbed the sheriff in the first place, an I'd bet it was from his office. Why don't you come with me or Shane, Lieutenant? At least give us until after the funeral. If your still of a mind ta go after Nighthawk, then we'll go with ya. That suit you?" Moose asked.

Tanner was growing more perturbed by the minute. Things were not going as he wished. McCormick, was mulling over the options in his mind, but he had to admit, what Murdoch said made sense, and he himself now doubted that Nighthawk was responsible.

"Alright, Murdoch. I'll accompany you personally. Sergeant Lender, I'm going to accompany Murdoch to wherever this took place. While I'm gone, you're in charge of the men. See to it that they stay out of trouble, and take no action on this matter until I have returned." McCormick ordered.

"This is ridiculous, Lieutenant. I'll have you know that I fully intend to inform your superior, Colonel Foley, of your gross mishandling of this situation." Tanner said disgustedly.

"Of course, Mr. Tanner, you are free to do so. But as the commanding officer here and now, I'm obliged to do my duty as I see necessary, and that's precisely what I'm doing. Good day."

The crowd then began descending upon the Phelps' yard, eager to soak in the gory details of the scene. Tanner, stepped off to the side and summoned Portalis and Ballard. "Ballard, I want you along with them when they backtrack the killer. I want you to report back to me all of their actions and anything they find."

"Sure, boss. But do ya mind if maybe I take Duane along with me? He knows a bit about trackin', an I'd feel a sight more comfortable havin' him with me just in case things got outa hand, us bein' amongst the enemy and all. That way I'll have someone ta watch my back when I'm examinin' the evidence."

"I'm not sending you to engage the Murdochs in any gunplay, just to gather information and report back to me. Nevertheless, yes, go ahead and take Jack Duane with you."

"Boss, what I don't understand, is why you don't just send fer the rest a your men an let's just go an get Nighthawk ourselves. Like as not, Fogg'll try an protect him, an we can settle up with all of 'em then an there."

"You just let me do the thinking, Ballard. Why should I risk losing most of my best men in a full scale gun battle when I can possibly induce the Army to perform essentially the same task for me? We may need those men against Murdoch soon, and it would take time to replace them."

He then turned his attention to Lieutenant McCormick, who was standing a little ways off speaking to Murdoch, and loudly addressed him saying, "McCormick! I'm sending along a couple of my own men. I do not entirely trust your new-found friend Murdoch, and I wish to be certain of all the facts involved in this matter. After all, the trail leads off in the direction of the Murdoch and Bolton holdings. Do you have any objections?"

McCormick sighed and said, "No, Mr. Tanner, I guess not. Do you, Mr. Murdoch?"

"I don't, as long as it ain't Portalis. I won't have anything ta do with any man who had any hand in gunnin' down Dan Bolton or any a his men, unless I'm puttin' a bullet in em or plantin' his carcass in the ground."

"Good, then its settled. I'll be sending Colt Ballard and Jack Duane."

"Shit." was Murdoch's only reply.

After Tanner moved away out of earshot, Colt asked, "You want us ta go with Shane or Moose?"

"I want you both to go with McCormick. I wish to know precisely what he's thinking and feeling. Should he refuse to go after Nighthawk, I may take your suggestion into consideration." Tanner said.

Ballard nodded in affirmation then walked away, summoning Jack Duane. Tanner then began privately issuing orders to Chico Portalis. Unfortunately for him, Chico would once again become Tanner's emissary to the Esperanza gang.

After giving Portalis his instructions, Tanner turned and walked away. He began searching about for the editor of the Tribune. He had lost this round to Murdoch, but he concluded that Murdoch's advantage need only be for the moment. After all, he virtually owned the Tribune, having financed the enterprise in the first place. He had known the importance of a paper that could sway public opinion in the direction he wanted it to take. Irregardless of the innocence or guilt of Nighthawk, he decided that he would have Jeremiah Morris print only the facts he wanted the people to know. The discrepancies that Murdoch had brought up, would be conveniently ignored in this afternoon's edition. With any luck, there would soon be a public outcry against Lance Nighthawk, and perhaps, the Fogg gang as a whole. He approached Jeremiah Morris and began dictating to him what would and would not be printed concerning the circumstances pertaining to the death of the sheriff that day.

Moose Murdoch and Lieutenant McCormick mounted up and headed off up the trail that the killer had used to transport the sheriff to Reverend Phelps' house. Colt Ballard and Jack Duane followed close behind. The trail was easy to follow so that all four rode at a leisurely gallop. Shane Murdoch quickly examined the sheriff's office and, found the trail leading from there. However, instead of immediately following it to where it would meet up with his father's destination, he began searching about in an attempt to discover from what direction the killer had entered the town.

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