Zak nodded.
The two soldiers looked at him, their faces dumb-struck.
Before they could say anything, Colleen lifted her head and pointed to the west.
“I see a cloud of dust,” she said. “Somebody’s coming this way. Or, it might be the stage.”
Zak walked quickly to Nox and climbed into the saddle.
“All of you,” he said, “follow me to cover behind that hill over there. Until we know who that is under that dust cloud, we’re all in danger.”
Colleen was the first to move. Reluctantly, the two soldiers followed.
“There goes our damned leave,” Rivers grumbled.
“You trust this Cody?”
“He’s the onliest one who seems to know what the hell he’s doin’, I reckon.”
Scofield stifled a curse.
The dust cloud grew closer as the four riders galloped behind the low hill well off the old wagon road.
The sun filled the sky and the blue heavens filled with mares’ tails as if the gods had gone mad and scrawled their warning of impending weather for all to see.
Chapter 21
Trask pulled his hat brim down to shield his eyes from the rising sun. But as he gazed at the sky ahead, he saw the first buzzard float to a point and begin circling. The bird was soon joined by two more, then, as they rode on toward the junction of the two wagon roads, several more gathered and began to circle.
“What do you make of it, Hiram?” Ben asked. “Too many buzzards for a dead jackrabbit.”
“It don’t look natural,” Ferguson said. “Must be a big chunk of dead meat to draw that many turkeys this early of a morning.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’,” Trask said.
He turned in the saddle and looked at the men riding behind until he picked the face of the man he wanted.
“Deets, come on up here,” Trask yelled, beckoning with his hand.
Deets rode up alongside Trask.
“Al, see them buzzards up yonder?” Trask said.
“Hell, you can’t miss ’em. That’s all we been lookin’ at for the past five minutes.”
“You ride on up under ’em and see what it is they’re sniffin’.”
“A dead cow, maybe.”
“You check, Al. Be quick about it. You get in trouble, you fire off a shot. Got it?”
“Sure, boss,” Deets said, and slapped his horse’s rump with his reins. He galloped off and the men in line began talking among themselves.
Trask turned around again. “Shut up,” he said, and the men fell silent.
Ferguson suppressed the urge to snort at Trask’s remark. He didn’t want to rile the man up any more than he already was. Trask had been in a foul mood all morning, snapping at the men, cursing the sunrise, the flies, the chill that rose from the earth earlier. He had a lot in his craw and the sight of the buzzards wasn’t doing his mood any damned good.
Trask watched Deets disappear over a rise. The buzzards dipped lower, circling like slow-motion leaves caught in a slow-motion whirlwind. More buzzards had flown in to take their places on the invisible carousel, and Trask unconsciously sniffed the air for the stench of death.
Deets was taking a long time, it seemed, but when Trask looked up at the sky again, he saw that the vultures were at least a quarter mile from him, maybe more. Still, he didn’t like to wait, and he put spurs to his horse’s flanks. The men behind him did the same. Ferguson frowned. They had a long ride ahead of them, days of it, and Trask was already wearing out their horses.
Ted O’Hara saw the buzzards, too, and knew that the sight of them had agitated Trask. This gave him a twinge of pleasure. Trask was a man who had to be in control at all times, he surmised. When he felt that control slipping, he turned ugly and mean. The gallop wouldn’t accomplish much over the stretch of land they had yet to cover, but he knew Trask had sent Deets up ahead to investigate, and yet, didn’t fully trust any of his men. In fact, he probably trusted no man, and that was almost always a fatal flaw. The loner could only go so far in life. Then, when he began to run out of friends, he stood completely alone, and without anyone to rely on, except himself, he was lost. Trask wasn’t at that point yet, but he was certainly headed for it. One of his men, one day, would become fed up with him and put a bullet in his back. And Trask would never know what hit him. He brooked no counsel, took no advice. From anyone, except himself.
The line of men stretched out into a ragged column as the slower riders fell behind, but nobody complained. All of them knew where Trask was headed, just under those circling buzzards, and all would eventually reach it. Some of the men exchanged knowing looks, but kept their comments to themselves.
Trask topped the rise and slowed his horse.
There was Deets, riding back and forth across the old road. He was leaning over, scanning the ground. He rode toward the regular stage road where it had veered off from the old road, then back again, beyond where two
