over at The Kid and Farnum, both of whom nodded in agreement with that opinion.
Dunlap took off his hat and ran his hand over his head as he frowned in thought. “So the ruckus happened somewhere between us and them soldier boys.”
“That’s the way it seems to me,” Harwood said.
Dunlap clapped his hat on as he reached a decision. “We’ll ride ahead and take a look-see, just the four of us. The wagons will stay here. I’ll tell the folks to get ready for trouble.”
“You ought to stay here, too, Horace,” Harwood argued. “You’re the wagonmaster. We can’t afford to have anything happen to you.”
“I’m goin’, blast it!” Dunlap snapped. “I never hid from trouble in my life, and I ain’t fixin’ to start now.”
The Kid said, “You wouldn’t be hiding from trouble. You’d be doing the smart thing. These people are depending on your leadership to get them through.”
“What kind of leader sends his men where he won’t go his own self?” Dunlap demanded. “Wait here.” His tone allowed no further argument. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
While Dunlap rode back to the wagons to issue his orders, The Kid said, “Well, do we wait for him?”
“If we don’t, we’ll just have him breathing down our necks in a few minutes,” Harwood said. “I’ve known Horace for quite a while. Once he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it.”
“I’ve known him for even longer,” Farnum said. “What it amounts to is that he’s stubborn as an ol’ mule. We might as well wait for him, ’cause he’s comin’ along anyway.”
A couple of minutes later, Dunlap galloped back out to join them. The Kid looked past him at the wagons and saw that all the outriders had been pulled in to help defend the immigrants if need be.
“Let’s go,” Dunlap said curtly.
The shots had come from due west. The four men rode in that direction. They didn’t push their horses. If they encountered trouble, they might need to make a run for it, so they wanted their animals to be as fresh as possible.
Anyway, the shooting was over. There was no real hurry.
Suddenly, Dunlap leaned forward in the saddle and uttered a curse. “Is that smoke I see up yonder?”
It was. The Kid had spotted the dark, thin ribbon of smoke curling into the air at the same time as the wagonmaster.
“What the hell’s burnin’?” Farnum wondered.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Dunlap said. “Come on.”
“Horace, wait a minute,” Harwood said. “There’s not much smoke. The fire can’t be very big. It won’t do anybody any good for us to go charging in there and get ourselves killed. We still need to be careful.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Dunlap said reluctantly. “But I sure don’t like it.”
Neither did any of the other men. All four wore grim expressions as they rode toward the rising smoke, which thickened slightly as the flames consumed more fuel.
The smoke gave them something to steer by, and it wasn’t long before they came in sight of what was burning. The fire was beginning to die down, leaving behind the charred husk of what appeared to be a huge wagon.
“That’s a freight wagon,” Dunlap said as they closed in. “One of them Conestogas.”
The Kid knew enough about the freight business to be aware that Conestoga wagons were longer, taller, and heavier than the light wagons used by immigrants. They were behemoths that were used only for hauling freight.
The wagon hadn’t gotten out there by itself. It had been pulled by a team of eight draft horses, all of which lay slaughtered in their traces. Bloody, gaping wounds in the bodies of the unfortunate animals showed where large hunks of meat had been carved out and carried away.
“Apaches,” Harwood said, with no doubt in his voice. “They love horse meat.”
“There must’ve been several teamsters with a wagon this size,” Farnum said. “Where are they?”
“You know the answer to that as well as I do, Milo,”
Dunlap took off his hat and ran his hand over his head as he frowned in thought. “So the ruckus happened somewhere between us and them soldier boys.”
“That’s the way it seems to me,” Harwood said.
Dunlap clapped his hat on as he reached a decision. “We’ll ride ahead and take a look-see, just the four of us. The wagons will stay here. I’ll tell the folks to get ready for trouble.”
“You ought to stay here, too, Horace,” Harwood argued. “You’re the wagonmaster. We can’t afford to have anything happen to you.”
“I’m goin’, blast it!” Dunlap snapped. “I never hid from trouble in my life, and I ain’t fixin’ to start now.”
The Kid said, “You wouldn’t be hiding from trouble. You’d be doing the smart thing. These people are depending on your leadership to get them through.”
“What kind of leader sends his men where he won’t go his own self?” Dunlap demanded. “Wait here.” His tone allowed no further argument. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
While Dunlap rode back to the wagons to issue his orders, The Kid said, “Well, do we wait for him?”
“If we don’t, we’ll just have him breathing down our necks in a few minutes,” Harwood said. “I’ve known Horace for quite a while. Once he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it.”
“I’ve known him for even longer,” Farnum said. “What it amounts to is that he’s stubborn as an ol’ mule. We might as well wait for him, ’cause he’s comin’ along anyway.”
A couple of minutes later, Dunlap galloped back out to join them. The Kid looked past him at the wagons and saw that all the outriders had been pulled in to help defend the immigrants if need be.
“Let’s go,” Dunlap said curtly.
The shots had come from due west. The four men rode in that direction. They didn’t push their horses. If they encountered trouble, they might need to make a run for it, so they wanted their animals to be as fresh as possible.
Anyway, the shooting was over. There was no real hurry.
Suddenly, Dunlap leaned forward in the saddle and uttered a curse. “Is that smoke I see up yonder?”
It was. The Kid had spotted the dark, thin ribbon of smoke curling into the air at the same time as the wagonmaster.
“What the hell’s burnin’?” Farnum wondered.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Dunlap said. “Come on.”
“Horace, wait a minute,” Harwood said. “There’s not much smoke. The fire can’t be very big. It won’t do anybody any good for us to go charging in there and get ourselves killed. We still need to be careful.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Dunlap said reluctantly. “But I sure don’t like it.”
Neither did any of the other men. All four wore grim expressions as they rode toward the rising smoke, which thickened slightly as the flames consumed more fuel.
The smoke gave them something to steer by, and it wasn’t long before they came in sight of what was burning. The fire was beginning to die down, leaving behind the charred husk of what appeared to be a huge wagon.
“That’s a freight wagon,” Dunlap said as they closed in. “One of them Conestogas.”
The Kid knew enough about the freight business to be aware that Conestoga wagons were longer, taller, and heavier than the light wagons used by immigrants. They were behemoths that were used only for hauling freight.
The wagon hadn’t gotten out there by itself. It had been pulled by a team of eight draft horses, all of which lay slaughtered in their traces. Bloody, gaping wounds in the bodies of the unfortunate animals showed where large hunks of meat had been carved out and carried away.
“Apaches,” Harwood said, with no doubt in his voice. “They love horse meat.”
“There must’ve been several teamsters with a wagon this size,” Farnum said. “Where are they?”
“You know the answer to that as well as I do, Milo,”
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