really cares about that woman. Mrs. Ritter.”
“I don’t doubt it,” The Kid said. “Any problems they have are between them, though. I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“I got a hunch you’re right.” Farnum nodded. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks nobody’s watchin’. I didn’t know her when her husband was over there in Arizona with Crook, but Scott’s told me enough I figure she was really devoted to him. Must’ve hit her mighty hard when he died. Scott said he figured she’d never want anything to do with another man after that, but he got it in his head he was gonna see if she’d warm up to him anyway. Well, she did, after so long a time. But now maybe she figures she made a mistake.”
That was the longest speech The Kid had heard Farnum make.
“I hope they work it out. I don’t wish trouble on anybody.”
“That’s sort of an odd way for a gunfighter to feel, ain’t it?”
“Not when that gunfighter just wants to be left alone.”
Dunlap walked up a moment later carrying a canvas sack that bulged with food and supplies.
“There you go, Kid,” he said as he held it out. “With our thanks.”
“I’m the one who ought to be thanking you.” The Kid took the sack and tied it to his saddle. Then he extended his hand to Dunlap. “Good luck to you.”
The wagonmaster gripped his hand hard. “The same to you, Kid.”
The Kid hesitated, then asked, “Did you happen to see whether Harwood regained consciousness yet?”
Dunlap nodded. “Yeah, he was sittin’ and talkin’ with Mrs. Ritter. I didn’t disturb ’em, and nobody else is, either.”
“Good. I hope it all works out.”
The Kid shook hands with Farnum as well, then swung up into the saddle. “Enjoy your lives here in Raincrow Valley.” He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat in a salute and turned the dun to ride out of the circle of wagons.
Full night had fallen, but once The Kid was away from the campfires and his eyes had adjusted, the millions of stars in the ebony sky overhead provided enough light for him to see where he was going. He followed the creek, figuring that would be the easiest route to the northern part of the valley where he intended to spend the night.
It likely would take him a few days to get out of the valley and cross that mountain range Dunlap had mentioned. He and the dun would be worn out by the time they reached the basin on the other side. He was already looking forward to finding the settlement and taking it easy for a few days.
A half moon rose in the east and scattered more silvery light across the valley. The creek’s meandering course quickly took The Kid out of sight of the wagon train camp, and when he looked back, he could no longer see the fires.
He rode until he thought he was four or five miles north of the camp. When he came upon a pine-dotted knoll overlooking the creek, he decided it would make a decent place to stop for the night. He rode up the slope and found that the top of the knoll was fairly level. It would do to spread his bedroll, and there was enough grass to keep the dun happy.
The Kid dismounted, unsaddled, and picketed the horse, then delved into the bag of supplies Dunlap had given him. He found some biscuits that felt fresh and a hunk of salt pork. Starting a fire and brewing some coffee seemed like too much trouble. He would make a cold camp for the night, then have coffee in the morning. He sat on a fallen pine to eat, washing down the food with water from his canteen.
When he was finished with his meal, he piled up some pine boughs, spread his blankets on top of them, took off his boots, and stretched out with his gunbelt coiled on the ground beside him. His head rested on his saddle.
It would be chilly before morning, he thought as he looked up at the stars. In fact, most of the day’s warmth had already faded away, and those stars with their silvery glitter had a distinctly cold look about them.
That was because the stars didn’t give a damn, The Kid mused. They sat up there looking down on the earth, and the petty trials and tribulations of the puny humans who lived here were utterly meaningless to them.
It didn’t pay to think too much about things like that, The Kid told himself. If a man realized how tiny and insignificant he was in the universe’s grand scheme of things, he might be too overwhelmed to go on.
With that thought in his head, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes to go to sleep.
He hadn’t been in that position for more than a second or two when he heard gunfire in the distance.
The Kid stiffened, then flung his bedroll aside and reached for the revolver lying next to him. With the Colt in his hand, he got to his feet and walked over to the edge of the knoll. His pulse hammered in his head as he stared to the south, toward the wagon camp, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the shots that drifted through the night air.
The gunfire wasn’t the only thing that alarmed him. As he looked in that direction, he saw an orange glow climbing into the sky, faint at first, then growing stronger with every passing second. Something was burning down there, and the flames were big enough to light up the heavens.
The Kid turned sharply and started toward his horse. He might not be able to get there in time to help the immigrants, but he had to try.
He had taken only a step when a dark shape suddenly flung itself out of the shadows under the pines and lunged at him as a savage war cry split the air.
Chapter 11
The Apache never had a chance. The Kid’s gun was already in his hand, and it roared twice in less than a heartbeat, slamming a pair of slugs into the attacker’s chest.
The bullets stopped the Apache like running into a wall. He crumpled, probably dead when he hit the ground.
He wasn’t alone, though. A Winchester cracked, spitting flame and leaden death into the night. The Kid felt as much as heard the rifle bullet hum hotly past his ear. He triggered a shot at the muzzle flash as he went down in a rolling dive.
His brain was working automatically, trying to figure out how many Indians he faced and where they were. He heard a sharp, angry neigh from the dun, so he knew one of the Apaches was over by the horse.
As The Kid came up on one knee with the Colt leveled, he spotted a figure in the moonlight, trying to get around the dun. The Kid fired and sent the man spinning off his feet.
Rapid footsteps sounded behind him. The Kid whirled as he came up, but the Apache was too close. He crashed into The Kid in a flying tackle, and both of them went down.
The Kid expected to feel the bite of cold steel at any second. He kicked loose as the Apache grappled with him. The man lunged after him, and moonlight glinted on a knife blade. Steel rang on steel as The Kid blocked the thrust with the barrel of his Colt.
He sank a knee in the Apache’s groin, making the man grunt in pain. The knife slashed at him again. The Kid ducked desperately as the blade went over his head. He grabbed the Apache’s wrist, clamping the fingers of his left hand around it to hold the knife off.
With his right hand, he shoved the revolver’s barrel under the man’s chin and pulled the trigger.
Flesh muffled the boom as the shot blew the Apache’s head apart. The man fell back dead. The Kid plucked the knife from his fingers and rolled away from the corpse.
He had just fired the last round in the Colt’s cylinder. Extra cartridges were in his pocket, but the knife would have to do until he could reload.
As he knelt there with the empty gun in one hand and the knife in the other, listening to the pounding beat of his pulse inside his head, he looked around the clearing where he’d made his camp and didn’t see anyone else. The dun still moved around skittishly, but that was due to the smells of powdersmoke and death that hung in the air.
