worked into it. When he had the pipe lit, he puffed on it for a moment, then answered the question The Kid had asked earlier.
“No, we didn’t know the Apaches were raiding again. We didn’t just start out blindly from El Paso and hope for the best. Horace and I both talked to officers at Fort Bliss who assured us this part of New Mexico Territory was peaceful at the moment. I guess the reports of the raids just hadn’t reached them yet.” Harwood took another puff on the pipe and added, “The Apaches can move pretty quickly when they want to.”
The Kid nodded. He recalled his father telling him that an Apache warrior could run forty miles a day in a ground-eating lope if he had to. As a rule, the Apaches weren’t horse Indians, like the Sioux and the Comanche and the Cheyenne, along with the other Plains tribes. The Apaches preferred to travel on foot.
But on a long raid across the border, they would be mounted. However, if they planned to attack the wagon train, they might hide their horses and make their approach on foot, since that was the way they were used to fighting.
“Maybe they’re already back below the border,” Jessica said. “We don’t know that they’re not.”
“That’s true,” Harwood said. “We can’t count on them being gone, though.”
“No, of course not. We still have to be ready for trouble.”
“A few more days and we won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Harwood said with a smile. “We’ll be in Raincrow Valley, and we can start making our new home there.”
Jessica returned the smile. “I’m looking forward to that.”
The Kid figured that was his cue to leave. “I’m much obliged to you for the meal, Mrs. Ritter. It was very good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You’re risking your life by riding with us, Mr. Morgan. The least we can do is feed you.”
“It would be even more risky for him if he was 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 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
“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.
