“As a matter of fact, no. What’s that you said about trailing them?”
The Kid didn’t answer the question directly. Instead he snapped, “You didn’t see them because they didn’t want you to see them. They probably knew where you were every minute of the day and night and could have ambushed you at any time. The only reason you’re not dead now is because they found a more tempting target ... that wagon train.”
Nicholson drew in a deep breath and glared down at The Kid from his saddle. “The wagon train?” he repeated.
“That’s right. Except for four women the Apaches carried off as prisoners, every man, woman, and child in that party of immigrants is dead now, and I figure you’re partially to blame for that.”
Angrily, Sgt. Brennan crowded his horse forward. “Hold on just a damned minute! You best keep a respectful tongue in your head when you’re talkin’ to the lieutenant, mister.”
“I’m not in the army. Those gold bars don’t mean anything to me,” The Kid said coldly. “If you’d stayed with the wagons, Nicholson, the Apaches might not have attacked.”
“You can’t be certain of that.”
The Kid shrugged. Nicholson was right about that. He couldn’t be sure. But there was a good chance it was true.
The lieutenant dismounted and handed his reins to Brennan. He turned to The Kid. “Tell me what happened.”
The Kid summed up the bloody, tragic circumstances in as few words as possible. Nicholson’s face had acquired a tan during his service in the Southwest, but he turned pale underneath it as The Kid described how everyone with the wagon train had been killed except for the four women who were taken prisoner.
“You say you were trailing the Apaches?” Nicholson asked when The Kid was finished.
“That’s right. Their tracks are hard to miss.” The Kid paused. “You might have even noticed them if you’d kept riding.”
Nicholson’s lips tightened at the thinly veiled insult. “We saw the glow in the sky from our camp last night. The sergeant told me something was on fire, and I was planning to investigate. I recalled that man Dunlap saying the wagon train was headed for Raincrow Valley, and I wanted to be sure the settlers were all right.”
“Little late for that,” The Kid drawled.
Brennan started to get down from his horse. “By God, I’ve had just about enough of you, mister!”
Nicholson waved the noncom back into the saddle. “Stay where you are, Sergeant. Civilians are ... entitled to their opinion, even when they don’t know what they’re talking about. I had my orders, Mr. Morgan, and I followed them. My conscience is clear.”
The Kid wondered if that was completely true, or if later on uncertainty and guilt would visit Nicholson on some dark night of the soul. He had experienced plenty of that himself.
But he said, “If you want to follow something, how about following their tracks? The Apaches probably aren’t expecting any pursuit. We might be able to catch up to them in time to do those women some good.”
Nicholson frowned in thought as he considered the suggestion.
“For God’s sake,” The Kid burst out impatiently, “your orders are to find that war party, right?”
“To locate and engage the hostiles, yes,” Nicholson said with a nod.
“Well, those tracks will lead you right to them. Even a stiff-necked son of a—” The Kid forced himself to stop and take a breath. “Even you ought to be able to see that, Lieutenant.”
“You’re right. Following those tracks is exactly what I should be doing, Mr. Morgan. And you’re going to help me do it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“From this point on, consider yourself under my command,” Nicholson said. “You’re now attached to this patrol as a civilian scout, and therefore under the jurisdiction of the United States Army.”
The Kid’s eyes widened. “The hell you say!”
Nicholson jerked his head in a nod. “That’s right, the hell I say. I’m declaring this part of the territory to be under martial law, and as such I have the right to impress civilians into temporary duty.”
“That can’t be legal,” The Kid protested.
“If you think so, you can take the matter up with my superior officers when we get back to Fort Bliss. In the meantime, you already said you were trailing those Apaches. I intend to do the same thing. Why should you object to riding with us?”
“It’s not the riding with you I object to, it’s the blasted business about being under your command.”
“Well ... perhaps it won’t come to that. We want the same thing, after all, don’t we? To punish those savages and deliver justice to them for their crimes?”
That wasn’t what The Kid wanted at all. He wanted to rescue Jessica and the other three women. Killing some Apaches in the process would be a good thing, but it wasn’t the main objective.
If he said that, it would just lead to more arguing with Nicholson, and they had already wasted enough time. “Let me get my horse. I’ll ride with you.”
“I thought so,” Nicholson said with a smile.
The Kid wanted to wipe the smirk off the lieutenant’s face with a fist. If he was lucky, he would get the chance to do that later.
For now, getting those women away from the war party was the only thing that mattered to him. He led the dun out of the boulders, swung up into the saddle, and moved to the front of the patrol alongside Nicholson.
As he rode past Sgt. Brennan, he saw hate smoldering in the noncom’s eyes. There would be trouble with Brennan before it was all over, The Kid thought.
That was fine. The mood he was in, he was ready for trouble, and plenty of it.
Chapter 13
The Kid led the patrol to the tracks and pointed out how they arrowed straight south. “They’re making a run for the border. The Apaches may not be expecting any pursuit, but they want to get below the line before anybody can catch up to them, just in case.”
“The savages took four women as prisoners, you said?” Nicholson asked.
“That’s right. Mrs. Jessica Ritter, Mrs. Violet Price, Mrs. Price’s daughter ... Elsie, I think her name is ... and a woman named Gabbert. I don’t know if she was married or not.” The Kid paused. “If she was, she’s a widow now.”
“That’s regrettable. I hope circumstances allow us to be of assistance to them.”
The Kid knew what that meant. Nicholson would be perfectly willing to sacrifice the prisoners’ lives if doing so helped him destroy the war party.
The odds of that happening were pretty slim, The Kid thought. The patrol was outnumbered three to one and was outgunned, to boot. The best they could hope for would be to hit the Apaches hard, inflict some casualties, then get away without being wiped out themselves.
But in doing so, they might provide enough of a distraction for The Kid to rescue the captives. That was what
The patrol headed south at a brisk pace, following the tracks. Nicholson didn’t really need the services of a scout. The trail was so easy to see, even a greenhorn like him could follow it.
If Frank Morgan had been there, he could have examined the tracks and the droppings left behind by the Apache ponies and figured out how far ahead the war party was. The Kid wasn’t that skilled as a tracker, although the past couple of years had given him some experience in that area.
“How far is it to the border?” Nicholson asked after a while.
“I don’t know,” The Kid replied. “Around fifty miles, I’d say, but that’s just a guess.”
“How will we know when we get there? There’s no river separating the countries here in New Mexico Territory, like there is over in Texas.”
“Don’t know that, either. There are a few settlements right along the border, I think. We may have to find one of them and ask folks where the line is.”
