traveling alone,” Harwood said. “So we’re doing him a favor, too.”
The Kid felt like pointing out that he was still standing right there in front of them, so there was no call for Harwood to talk like he was gone.
But such a reaction wouldn’t serve any purpose, he decided, so he lifted a hand in farewell. “So long.”
He led his dun over to a water bucket that had been set out for the scouts’ horses and let the animal drink. Then he swung up into the saddle and rode back to the front of the wagon train.
Dunlap was already there, sitting on horseback, talking to Milo Farnum. The wizened little scout grinned at The Kid. “So you’ve joined our ranks, have you, Morgan?”
“I figured having another pair of eyes out there wouldn’t hurt,” The Kid said.
“Aye, that’s the truth. You didn’t see any sign of the savages this morning?”
The Kid shook his head. “Not a one.”
“I’m thinkin’ those varmints have already lit a shuck back down into Mexico,” Dunlap said, unknowingly echoing what Jessica Ritter had suggested. “And they can stay down there, as far as I’m concerned.”
That was The Kid’s hope as well, but he wasn’t going to believe it until the wagon train reached Raincrow Valley without any trouble.
A short time later the wagon train got underway again. The Kid, Harwood, and Farnum rode out together, splitting up when they were about a quarter mile ahead of the wagons. Harwood angled off to the south, Farnum veered north, and The Kid continued straight ahead.
The hot sun beating down made him grateful for the shade cast by the broad-brimmed hat. He had to stop more often during the afternoon and pour water from his canteen into his hat so the dun could drink.
It was during one of those pauses The Kid heard something that made him lift his head and squint into the distance to the west. The sounds that drifted to his ears through the hot, still air were unmistakable.
Gunshots.
Just a few, at first, then a ragged outburst that sounded like several dozen rifles firing at once. The Kid stood stiffly, listening as the battle continued.
The dun paid no attention to the sounds that meant men were fighting and probably dying. It continued to drink until the water in The Kid’s hat was gone. Putting the hat on, The Kid felt the last few drops trickle coolly over his face and neck, a sensation that was welcome in the heat.
It was hard to tell how far away the shooting was. Sound traveled great distances in the clear air. The Kid’s hunch was that the fight was at least a couple of miles west of his position. He debated for a moment whether he should gallop ahead and try to lend a hand, or carry the warning of possible trouble back to the wagon train.
That decision was taken out of his hands as the shots began to rapidly fade away. The battle was just about over. It hadn’t lasted long.
For one side or the other, that had to be bad news.
The Kid wheeled his horse and hurried toward the wagons. He saw Harwood and Farnum coming in, too, and figured they had also heard the shots.
Horace Dunlap saw the three scouts, and rode out to meet them a couple hundred yards from the wagons, which had come to a halt, no doubt at his order.
“What is it, fellas?” the wagonmaster asked. “Trouble?”
“For somebody,” Harwood replied. “I heard a lot of shooting up ahead.”
“I heard it, too,” Farnum said, and The Kid nodded to indicate that he had, as well.
“Is it still goin’ on?” Dunlap asked.
“No, it stopped.” Harwood’s grim tone was proof that he understood the meaning of that just as well as The Kid did.
“Son of a ...” Dunlap said under his breath. He looked at the other men. “You reckon the Apaches jumped that cavalry patrol?”
“Those troopers have had more than half a day to get ahead of us,” Harwood said. “As fast as they were moving when they left, they ought to be farther ahead of us than it sounded like those shots were.”
He looked
The Kid felt like pointing out that he was still standing right there in front of them, so there was no call for Harwood to talk like he was gone.
But such a reaction wouldn’t serve any purpose, he decided, so he lifted a hand in farewell. “So long.”
He led his dun over to a water bucket that had been set out for the scouts’ horses and let the animal drink. Then he swung up into the saddle and rode back to the front of the wagon train.
Dunlap was already there, sitting on horseback, talking to Milo Farnum. The wizened little scout grinned at The Kid. “So you’ve joined our ranks, have you, Morgan?”
“I figured having another pair of eyes out there wouldn’t hurt,” The Kid said.
“Aye, that’s the truth. You didn’t see any sign of the savages this morning?”
The Kid shook his head. “Not a one.”
“I’m thinkin’ those varmints have already lit a shuck back down into Mexico,” Dunlap said, unknowingly echoing what Jessica Ritter had suggested. “And they can stay down there, as far as I’m concerned.”
That was The Kid’s hope as well, but he wasn’t going to believe it until the wagon train reached Raincrow Valley without any trouble.
A short time later the wagon train got underway again. The Kid, Harwood, and Farnum rode out together, splitting up when they were about a quarter mile ahead of the wagons. Harwood angled off to the south, Farnum veered north, and The Kid continued straight ahead.
The hot sun beating down made him grateful for the shade cast by the broad-brimmed hat. He had to stop more often during the afternoon and pour water from his canteen into his hat so the dun could drink.
It was during one of those pauses The Kid heard something that made him lift his head and squint into the distance to the west. The sounds that drifted to his ears through the hot, still air were unmistakable.
Gunshots.
Just a few, at first, then a ragged outburst that sounded like several dozen rifles firing at once. The Kid stood stiffly, listening as the battle continued.
The dun paid no attention to the sounds that meant men were fighting and probably dying. It continued to drink until the water in The Kid’s hat was gone. Putting the hat on, The Kid felt the last few drops trickle coolly over his face and neck, a sensation that was welcome in the heat.
It was hard to tell how far away the shooting was. Sound traveled great distances in the clear air. The Kid’s hunch was that the fight was at least a couple of miles west of his position. He debated for a moment whether he should gallop ahead and try to lend a hand, or carry the warning of possible trouble back to the wagon train.
That decision was taken out of his hands as the shots began to rapidly fade away. The battle was just about over. It hadn’t lasted long.
For one side or the other, that had to be bad news.
The Kid wheeled his horse and hurried toward the wagons. He saw Harwood and Farnum coming in, too, and figured they had also heard the shots.
Horace Dunlap saw the three scouts, and rode out to meet them a couple hundred yards from the wagons, which had come to a halt, no doubt at his order.
“What is it, fellas?” the wagonmaster asked. “Trouble?”
“For somebody,” Harwood replied. “I heard a lot of shooting up ahead.”
“I heard it, too,” Farnum said, and The Kid nodded to indicate that he had, as well.
“Is it still goin’ on?” Dunlap asked.
“No, it stopped.” Harwood’s grim tone was proof that he understood the meaning of that just as well as The Kid did.
“Son of a ...” Dunlap said under his breath. He looked at the other men. “You reckon the Apaches jumped that cavalry patrol?”
“Those troopers have had more than half a day to get ahead of us,” Harwood said. “As fast as they were moving when they left, they ought to be farther ahead of us than it sounded like those shots were.”
He looked
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