Man with No Name- Ye Olde Motion Tracker

The hunter whirled and studied the horses ranked shoulder-to-shoulder along the saloon rail. He recognized Froggy’s horse at once. Most riders, even outlaws, keep their horses well-fed and well-groomed. Froggy’s mount looked like a shaggy-haired bone-rack that had recently been rolling in a pile of manure on a bed of cockleburs. It could have been—but probably wasn’t—the same crowbait he had been forking the last time they met.

Stepping to it, the hunter lifted a front foot and quickly attached a private invention of his own. This was a small iron star, welded to the head of a horseshoe nail. Tapped into the hoof of Froggy’s mount, it would leave an identifying imprint at every step. From then on, no matter what tricks the outlaw might try in an effort to shake off pursuit, his individual track would stand out like a signpost to the sharp eye of the hunter. Suddenly, the grotesque outlaw was worth infinitely more to him alive than dead.

- The Million-Dollar Bloodhunt, chapter 3