“Probably got them broken into squads now,” I said.
“No way to tell,” Pony said. “Horses all walk over each other tracks in troop.”
“He actually got twenty men?” Virgil said.
“Cannot tell,” Pony said. “Too many.”
“Let’s assume twenty,” I said. “He sent two scouts out front, and two flankers. Leaves sixteen. So he breaks the rest of them into three squads of five. And he makes sixteen.”
“All he needs is a damned guidon,” Virgil said.
“It’s the way he’s learned to fight,” I said.
“There’s enough of them to be stupid,” Virgil said.
“They figure Buffalo Calf won’t turn and fight them?” I said.
“Yep.”
“So they could ride right on into an ambush,” I said.
“Could,” Virgil said
“Maybe Buffalo Calf has some friends,” I said.
“None before,” Pony said.
“Any Comanche villages around?” Virgil said.
Pony shook his head.
“Mostly reservation Indians now,” Pony said.
“Don’t mean they always stay on the reservation,” Virgil said.
“Nope,” Pony said.
“You think he knows we’re out here?” I said to Pony.
“Probably think we with Pike,” Pony said. “Even mission-school Indian don’t understand white people much.”
“You understand white people?” I said.
“No,” Pony said.
His face was blank. I grinned at him.
“Well,” I said. “We ain’t typical, anyway.”
“Typical?” Pony said.
“Like everybody else,” I said.
“No,” Pony said. “You not like everybody.”
46
WE HAD A COLD CAMP that night, no fire, beef jerky and hard biscuits for supper, some whiskey to wash it down. In the morning, more biscuits and jerky, and some water from the canteen. Not long after sunrise, the tracks turned northwest.
“How far to this high ground you talking about,” Virgil said.
“Half day,” Pony said. “Less, if push horse.”
“Okay,” Virgil said. “Take a look, see how far he sends his outriders.”
Pony nodded and turned his horse and rode in a widening circle around the main tracks until he found the outriders. We sat our horses and waited.
“Both side,” Pony said, when he came back. “Maybe far as you shoot Colt.”
Virgil nodded.
“Want to get beyond the outriders,” he said.
Pony nodded.
“Tell me ’bout this high ground,” Virgil said.
“Start like short hill,” Pony said. “Go up.”
Pony made a steep gesture with his hand.
“Get to be like short mountain,” he said. “Many rocks. Many arroyo.”
“It’s straight northwest,” Virgil said, pointing in the direction the tracks took.
“Sí, jefe.”
“So we go straight north awhile,” Virgil said, “and turn straight left, we might come in behind the Indian.”
Pony nodded.
“What you think, Everett,” Virgil said.
“This is a smart Indian,” I said.
“We’re all smart,” Virgil said. “See who’s smarter.”
We turned north. We weren’t tracking now, so we could go hard.
“You know what we’re trying to do, Pony,” Virgil said. “Tell us when to turn west.”
We crossed the outriders’ tracks as we rode north, and went several miles beyond them. Then Pony turned his horse west, and we followed. In the late afternoon we saw the high ground in the distance stretching north. The flat land from which it rose was well to our south.
“Pretty good,” I said to Pony.
“Sí,” he said.
The going became harder as we went up the eastern slope of the hill. It was as Pony had said, full of rock outcroppings, laced with shale-sided arroyos. We went on up with Pony in the lead. He was leaning out of his saddle now, looking at the ground. I took the eight-gauge out of its scabbard and held it across my saddle. It was dark when we reached the top of the rise. There was no moon or stars. If there was anything to look at, it would have to wait until morning. Pony dismounted and walked ahead, leading his horse. We followed him, also leading the animals. In a while we came to the place Pony was looking for. A stream emerged from between two boulders and ran off downhill into the darkness.
“No fire,” Virgil said.
We let the animals drink. There wasn’t enough forage here, so we fed them some corn from a sack that the mule carried. We fed ourselves more jerky and biscuits. We drank a little whiskey, and decided who would take the first watch. It was Pony. Virgil and I wrapped ourselves in saddle blankets and went to sleep on the ground. About the time Pony woke me for my watch it had begun to rain. We wrapped ourselves in our slickers and hunched against the rock.
47
IT WAS STILL RAINING AND overcast in the morning, and much cooler than it had been. But in the gray light we could see the flat land to our southeast, and on it, in the distance, Pike’s posse. Virgil got a brass telescope from his saddlebag and gazed through it for a while.
“Christ, he brought everybody but the whores,” Virgil said.
He handed it to me.
“I count twenty,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“You see the Indian?” he said to Pony.
Pony shook his head.
“This stream the only water around?” Virgil said.
“Yes,” Pony said.
“Horse got to drink,” Virgil said. “Him, too.”
“So if he’s camped here,” I said, “he’s probably beside the stream.”
Below us on the plain, Pike’s posse set out toward the hills. Virgil watched them for a little while. Then he put down the glass and glanced up at the dark sky and shrugged.
