steal or stampede their horses. Set the divils afoot."
Pratt nodded. "Now! Would you listen to that?" He looked over at Barda. "He pounced on the one thing we can do. We set 'em afoot and they'll... why, a man can't do anything in this country without a horse!" He considered. "Won't be easy. Won't be at all. They surely do guard them horses."
"You be pouring that coffee, and let us give the problem some thought. I want to know all that you know about that camp, and where they'll tie their horses."
Even as he said it, Cris was thinking that there were other things a man could do besides this one so hastily struck upon. The secret, his uncle had told him, was to attack, always to attack. The enemy was always vulnerable. Some place, invariably, there was a weak spot
Steal their supplies? Set a prairie fire? Cut off their water supply? It was not the size of the force you had that mattered, it was how you used it.
Cris Mayo sat beside the fire and ate the bacon and drank the coffee, relishing every swallow as only a hungry man can, yet as he sat he was wishing he had the skills he'd heard that the old Indian fighters possessed, skills they learned from the Indian himself. He could have used many more skills than were at his command... but of one thing he was positive, the first move must be against their horses. He must rob them of mobility, and then before they could recapture their mounts or get others, the cavalry might come. Or some other such miracle might occur, he thought wryly. At least, afoot, they might hold off on killing the colonel, for fear of the Army.
How he was to get the horses, well, he left that to the future. It all depended upon the situation.
Could he trust Reppato Pratt? He believed he could, but just the same he would ride behind. He told Pratt so as they put out the fire and prepared to mount up. "We don't know you, mister, so if you don't mind, you ride ahead with the young lady. I'll sort of trail along behind."
"Cousin, you jess do that! To ride beside Miss McClean is all anybody could be wishful for. I take it a privilege!"
Cris Mayo scowled. Damn it, what the fellow said was true, and why should he get all the luck and Cris none? However, he followed them a few yards behind, his rifle ready to hand. The trail was plain enough.
Over their meal Pratt had outlined the situation at the spring. It was in a hollow among low hills, whose rounded, grass--covered slopes were bland and innocent, and seemed to offer no route to anywhere in particular; there was a narrow, single--file trail that led through the bushes and into a small basin containing the spring, a few cottonwoods, and some willows, as well as other low brush. On one side of the small slough was a thick clump of cattails. There was an opening out of the southwest corner through a cluster of cottonwoods, and it was near those trees that the horses would be placed at night.
"They let them graze?"
"That's earlier, but they take them through the trees for that and a couple of herders watch over them. They'll be in a long, low valley between the hills while grazing, and no way a body could get at 'em 'thout bein' seen. An' with that outfit, Mick, to be seen is to be shot... they don't figure to talk with anybody."
Cris was scared. He admitted it to himself, but he'd gotten in and he knew no way of getting out, not with the girl here, so determined and so vulnerable. Against the kind of men they faced they'd have only one chance, and they'd have to shoot first and straightest; and Crispin Mayo was only a novice at firing a gun. To relieve his feelings, he said stiffly to Pratt, "You'll do me the courtesy of calling me by my own name, or I'll have to lambaste you... which would be unpleasant, and you helping us so friendly and all."
Pratt chuckled. "All right. You call me Rep."
They had been riding for over an hour when the Kentuckian suddenly said, "Cris, you better give this a thought. That outfit ain't about to set still an' let us
Pratt nodded. "Now! Would you listen to that?" He looked over at Barda. "He pounced on the one thing we can do. We set 'em afoot and they'll... why, a man can't do anything in this country without a horse!" He considered. "Won't be easy. Won't be at all. They surely do guard them horses."
"You be pouring that coffee, and let us give the problem some thought. I want to know all that you know about that camp, and where they'll tie their horses."
Even as he said it, Cris was thinking that there were other things a man could do besides this one so hastily struck upon. The secret, his uncle had told him, was to attack, always to attack. The enemy was always vulnerable. Some place, invariably, there was a weak spot
Steal their supplies? Set a prairie fire? Cut off their water supply? It was not the size of the force you had that mattered, it was how you used it.
Cris Mayo sat beside the fire and ate the bacon and drank the coffee, relishing every swallow as only a hungry man can, yet as he sat he was wishing he had the skills he'd heard that the old Indian fighters possessed, skills they learned from the Indian himself. He could have used many more skills than were at his command... but of one thing he was positive, the first move must be against their horses. He must rob them of mobility, and then before they could recapture their mounts or get others, the cavalry might come. Or some other such miracle might occur, he thought wryly. At least, afoot, they might hold off on killing the colonel, for fear of the Army.
How he was to get the horses, well, he left that to the future. It all depended upon the situation.
Could he trust Reppato Pratt? He believed he could, but just the same he would ride behind. He told Pratt so as they put out the fire and prepared to mount up. "We don't know you, mister, so if you don't mind, you ride ahead with the young lady. I'll sort of trail along behind."
"Cousin, you jess do that! To ride beside Miss McClean is all anybody could be wishful for. I take it a privilege!"
Cris Mayo scowled. Damn it, what the fellow said was true, and why should he get all the luck and Cris none? However, he followed them a few yards behind, his rifle ready to hand. The trail was plain enough.
Over their meal Pratt had outlined the situation at the spring. It was in a hollow among low hills, whose rounded, grass--covered slopes were bland and innocent, and seemed to offer no route to anywhere in particular; there was a narrow, single--file trail that led through the bushes and into a small basin containing the spring, a few cottonwoods, and some willows, as well as other low brush. On one side of the small slough was a thick clump of cattails. There was an opening out of the southwest corner through a cluster of cottonwoods, and it was near those trees that the horses would be placed at night.
"They let them graze?"
"That's earlier, but they take them through the trees for that and a couple of herders watch over them. They'll be in a long, low valley between the hills while grazing, and no way a body could get at 'em 'thout bein' seen. An' with that outfit, Mick, to be seen is to be shot... they don't figure to talk with anybody."
Cris was scared. He admitted it to himself, but he'd gotten in and he knew no way of getting out, not with the girl here, so determined and so vulnerable. Against the kind of men they faced they'd have only one chance, and they'd have to shoot first and straightest; and Crispin Mayo was only a novice at firing a gun. To relieve his feelings, he said stiffly to Pratt, "You'll do me the courtesy of calling me by my own name, or I'll have to lambaste you... which would be unpleasant, and you helping us so friendly and all."
Pratt chuckled. "All right. You call me Rep."
They had been riding for over an hour when the Kentuckian suddenly said, "Cris, you better give this a thought. That outfit ain't about to set still an' let us
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