Across the Rio Colorado by Ralph Compton Page B

ahead from Guthrie and his cowboys, but he wanted to see for himself, so he rode ahead of the wagons, as usual. While good water was essential, he wasn’t nearly as concerned with that as with the possible presence of outlaws. Indian Territory had long been the refuge for hostile Indians, but it had also become a haven for renegade whites. Villages in southern Kansas, southwestern Missouri, and western Arkansas were looted by renegades who immediately disappeared into the wilds of
Indian Territory. McQuade doubted that these outlaws would hesitate to attack a wagon train, if only for the livestock. When McQuade eventually found water, he also found the remnants of a fire, not more than a few hours old, and a profusion of tracks. He back-trailed them to the northwest for more than two miles, primarily to determine the number of riders. He decided there were at least twenty-four. They had been following a stream, and before leaving it, had built a supper fire. McQuade followed the tracks far enough to establish a direction. The riders had circled to the southwest, telling McQuade what he wished to know. All the horses were shod, and that many white men bound for Indian Territory meant they almost had to be outlaws. He rode back to meet the oncoming wagons. He would wait until the wagons were circled and supper was done, before telling them of the tracks he had seen and his suspicions regarding them. Reaching the wagons, McQuade rode back along the line, speaking to the men and their wives, atop the wagon boxes. He tipped his hat to Mary Flanagan, and when he reached Hardy Kilgore’s wagon, Hardy hailed him. McQuade turned his horse, riding alongside the wagon.
    â€œMy boy Jason saddled his horse a while ago, and rode down the back-trail,” said Kilgore. “He wanted to see what Hook’s bunch was doin’. The piano didn’t survive the stampede, and they left it behind. But they got the rest of it together, and are followin’, maybe half a dozen miles back.”
    â€œThanks, Hardy,” McQuade said. Obviously, Hook wasn’t going to challenge Guthrie’s outfit, although some of Hook’s gunmen could ride back and attack the camp after dark.
    There was no sign of the Hook wagons until after dark, when they circled half a mile upstream, and their supper fires were visible. Within Hook’s patched-up tent, a lighted lantern hung from the ridge pole. Seated at a table, papers before them, sat Rufus Hook and his attorney, Xavier Hedgepith.

    â€œDamn it,” said Hedgepith, “why don’t you just give up the saloon on the trail?”
    â€œNo,” Hook said. “We’re less than fifty miles out of St. Louis. Tomorrow, I’m sending Nall and Groat back to town for another tent.”
    â€œAll you’ve done is turn that bunch of settlers against you. Hell, by the time we reach Texas, they’ll be sold on McQuade and hating your guts,” said Hedgepith.
    â€œThat’s exactly what I’m aiming to do,” Hook replied. “I want them relying entirely on McQuade, until we reach Texas. Then McQuade will die, and without a leader, they’ll give in without a fight.”
    â€œHook,” said Hedgepith, “you’re not the first with plans to build an empire at somebody else’s expense, and there’s always some element that can’t be controlled. This bunch has seen McQuade spit in your face and get away with it. Before dawn this morning, your camp was flattened by a herd of longhorn cows, and you took it. By the time these people reach the Rio Colorado, they’ll be so set against you, they’ll have to be slaughtered to the last man.”
    â€œHedgepith,” said Hook, “you just see to it that the papers for individual grants have been drawn up accordin’ to my instructions. All you got to do is be sure the grant reverts to me, when they fail to live up to their end of the deal. You sure you got papers