“Why? I’m just a whore. Why are you helping me?” she gasps.
“Because of you, no one else will die at this sick bastard's hand. You remember that when you're feeling sorry for yourself. I am going to hunt him down and wipe him from memory.” Solomon declares.
“This woman you are so faithful to is very lucky.” She leaps up and throws her arms around him hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” she kisses his cheek and jumps up to grab her bags.
As quick as she can, she starts stuffing clothes into a bag, and he moves to help her. “No, you sleep. I will make sure your clothes are ready for you.” Solomon smiles and does as she suggests, he sleeps.
The night passes quickly, and he wakes to find her gone. His clothes are waiting, and a note rests on his pillow. “Gone home to Boston! Thank you for my freedom,” Love Jane.
Solomon dresses and straps on his pistols before getting back on the trail. He needs to send a telegram to the River's Ranch, and then find this bastard. Hopefully, he will catch him before he kills anyone else.
Cole adjusts his binoculars and swears under his breath in a misty puff of air. From his vantage point on the crest of the hill, he can make out ten Cheyenne warriors, armed and making camp next to a river for the night. Time to warn the others. It will only be a matter of time before they run across them.
He quietly retreats and returns to camp. He kicks his horse into a run and plows into the camp. When he leaps from his horse and kicks dirt over the fire, he hears a collected cry of outrage.
“What the hell, Cole!” Frank yells at him.
“There is a band of Cheyenne warriors camping over the next ridge, you damn fools!” Cole points.
“How many?” Aiden inquires without putting his cup down.
“Ten warriors, all heavily armed. If they hear or see us…?”
“Then what, Cole? That's what you are paid for to scout ahead and warn us. You have done that. Now it's time for me to do my job,” Billy explains with an evil smile.
Aiden grins in response. “Yes, I would love to see you all in action. Just exactly what is my money getting me?”
About two hours later the six men have circled the camp. Over the noise of the rushing river, not much will be heard of the advance, but the men still move slowly. A fire is lit, illuminating the camp with its golden glow and allowing them to watch two of the youngest Cheyenne go to check the horses.
Darkness has descended, but the Indians know to tie the horses together so they will not run off. One feeds them, while the other brushes the palomino beauties. They toss their heads and the one brushing them, grumbles at the antsy movements of the horses.
Cole and Frank move in silence, trained by years of working for whoever pays the highest. Waiting patiently, they inch forward until the unknowing targets are within reach. Quick as snakes they move simultaneously grabbing the young warriors from behind, their arms wrapped up around their heads. They jerk back on the surprised Indians heads exposing their necks, slicing across the throats in a spray of blood. Just as quickly they snap their heads forward to block the gasping airways, so no sound escapes. Death comes silently to the first two Indians. The bodies are placed gently on the ground, and they move away as quietly as they arrived.
The horses smell the strange metallic scent of death and snort and blow, pulling against the reigns holding them. Cole slices the ropes holding the animals in place and smacks one on the rump.
Drawn by the noise of the animals one of the Indians is walking towards them when they gallop towards him. He shouts a warning and leaps out of the way before joining his brothers. Chaos ensues as the remaining Indians scatter trying to catch their mounts.
Bob is camouflaged in the brush, waiting for just the right moment to attack, when one of the warriors chases his mount directly at him. He smiles and moves in.
Running out of the way of the horses nearing the pen, another warrior discovers the two bodies. His yell of outrage fills the night, and instantly the Indians form a circle back to back, weapons ready, they wait to search for the unseen enemy in the flickering firelight.
Bows raised and rifles ready they watch as one of their brothers stumbles towards them. They stare, unable to believe what they are seeing. His hands are tied behind his back, and something is sticking out of his mouth.
Terrified, he runs toward the group gagging and gurgling, and that's when they notice the lit fuse. It leads from his mouth and dangles over his shoulder. A trail of smoke and hissing sounds follow him, and he screams in the back of his throat.
Arrows fly towards him, but it is too late. The trail of death is true, and the dynamite stuffed into his throat ignites, killing the three closest Indians and flattening the rest to the ground. A mist of blood, dust, and body parts are all over the four remaining warriors. Scrambling up they scatter, running for their horses each hoping to escape through the river.
Aiden laughs from his vantage point above the camp, and it echoes in the night.
The horses plunge into the raging river, and they desperately strain trying to reach the bank on the other side. Frank shoots two of the Indians dead, their limp bodies fall from the horses and disappear into the night floating on the current of the
