landscape.
They made camp where one of those bluffs dropped off sharply into a thickly wooded valley. A little creek flowed up to and over the edge of the bluff, forming a waterfall. Bo looked over the brink and saw spray rising up from the pool that the waterfall formed at the bottom.
“This is a pretty nice place, in a wild sort of way,” he commented.
“Yeah,” Brubaker agreed. “I’ve watered my horse down there at that pool more than once, and I expect every owlhoot in these parts has, too. We’ll fill our water barrels from the creek before we pull out in the morning.”
Cara didn’t ask for Scratch to accompany her this time when she tended to her needs. He was busy fixing supper, anyway. But he saw her looking at him while Brubaker was leading her back and forth, and he smiled as he lowered his head toward the skillet full of bacon on the fire.
Sure, she was loco and as dangerous as a bag full of wildcats, but she was also mighty nice looking, and Scratch had never minded the attention of a good-lookin’ woman.
That was all it would ever amount to, of course. She was on her way to Texas to hang for her crimes, and from what he knew of her, Scratch figured it was a well-deserved fate. But it was sad, too. She had gone wrong somewhere in her life, bad wrong, and that was just a pure-dee shame.
Bo’s voice broke into his thoughts just then, saying with a note of urgency, “Riders coming.”
CHAPTER 14
Scratch straightened and stepped away from the fire, as he did so picking up the rifle he had laid aside when he started to prepare supper. Bo held his Winchester, too, and Brubaker snatched his Henry from the driver’s seat of the wagon. The deputy had just put Cara back into the vehicle and locked the door.
The hoofbeats grew louder as the riders approached. At first Bo hadn’t heard them very well because of the noise of the waterfall, and it occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t a very good place to camp after all.
From the sound of the horses, at least three or four riders were coming toward the camp, maybe more. Brubaker took cover behind the wagon and motioned for the Texans to do likewise.
The hoofbeats stopped as the three men waited tensely. A moment of silence went by before a voice called, “Hello, the camp! We’re friendly! All right to come in?”
“Do it slow and easy, with your hands in plain sight!” Brubaker shouted back. “You’ve got a dozen rifles pointed at you!”
With a steady
Even though the strangers were dressed like white men, their faces had a ruddy glow that didn’t come completely from the firelight, although the flames might have exaggerated the effect. Their skin color and their high cheekbones made it obvious these men were Indians.
Brubaker suddenly asked, “Charley Graywolf, is that you?”
One of the men grinned.
“I thought I recognized that growl of yours, Forty-two. All right if we put our hands down now?”
Brubaker glanced over at Bo and Scratch and nodded to indicate that these newcomers weren’t a threat. He said, “Yeah, put ’em down.”
He lowered his rifle and came out from behind the wagon. Bo and Scratch followed suit.
“This is an old friend of mine, Charley Graywolf,” Brubaker said. “I don’t know the other fellas, but I’d wager that they’re members of the Cherokee Lighthorse, too.”
“That’s right,” the man called Charley Graywolf said. He jerked a thumb toward his companions. “This is Duck Forbes, Walt Moon, and Joe Reeder.”
Brubaker inclined his head toward the Texans.
“Bo Creel and Scratch Morton,” he introduced them. “A couple of temporary deputies. What brings you boys out here?”
Graywolf didn’t answer right away. Instead he said, “I could ask the same thing of you, Forty-two.”
Brubaker slapped a hand against the side of the wagon.
“Transportin’ some prisoners down to Texas. They’re goin’ to Judge Southwick’s court in Tyler.”
“Kind of off the main road, aren’t you?” Graywolf asked with a puzzled frown.
“Yeah, and for good reason,” Brubaker replied. “We’ve got trouble doggin’ us, and we’re tryin’ to shake loose from it.”
“This is good country to throw somebody off your trail, all right,” Graywolf said with a nod. “All right if we get down and share your fire?”
Brubaker gestured toward the flames and said, “Sure. You’re welcome to coffee, too.”
Graywolf grinned as he swung down from the saddle.
“Only if you’ll let us throw in some provisions for supper,” he said.
“Not necessary,” Brubaker told him. “I know when you boys are out on the scout, you travel light.”
Graywolf shrugged. “That’s true. How’d you know we’re looking for somebody?”
“The Lighthorse don’t send out Charley Graywolf unless there’s a mighty good reason, and those fellas with you look like they’ve got plenty of bark on their hides, too.”
“It’s true,” Graywolf said with a grim nod. “We’re looking for some men who raided a farm north of here. Slaughtered the whole family who lived there and looted the place, not that there was much to steal.”
Brubaker grunted and said, “Sounds like Hank Gentry’s bunch. I’ve got three of ’em locked up in here.”
He nodded toward the wagon.
“No, these were redskinned scoundrels,” Graywolf said as he shook his head. “One of the victims managed to write the name ‘Kinlock’ in his own blood. Nat Kinlock’s a Cherokee. We’ve suspected for a while that he and some of his friends were behind a string of robberies over around Checotah. Now we’re sure of it, and we’re going to bring him in.” Graywolf paused. “Or plant him and his boys.”
“Well, I wish you luck,” Brubaker said. “We’ll share our camp tonight and go separate ways in the morning.”
“Sounds good,” Graywolf agreed.
The Cherokee lawmen began unsaddling their horses. Bo had heard of the Cherokee Lighthorse, but as far as he recalled he had never met any of them. They looked like tough, competent men. The Cherokee had their own towns and government, and as one of the so-called Five Civilized Tribes, they lived more like white men than did their nomadic cousins to the north and west. They were lawyers, doctors, teachers, farmers, and businessmen ... but the Cherokee Nation had outlaws among its members, too, and that was the reason the Lighthorse existed.
There was a friendly camaraderie between Brubaker and the Indian lawmen, and Bo and Scratch liked them as well. Tonight they could sleep a little easier, Bo mused. It was unlikely anybody would attack such a large, well- armed group. Although Hank Gentry’s gang was supposed to be even larger, he reminded himself, so it would still be necessary to remain alert and stand guard all night.
When they had finished eating, Brubaker told Bo and Scratch, “All right, we’ll feed the prisoners now.”
“Who do you have in custody?” Charley Graywolf asked.
“Cara LaChance, Jim Elam, and Dayton Lowe.”
Graywolf’s hard-planed face grew even more grim.
“That LaChance woman is said to be full of evil spirits,” he said. “And the other two aren’t much better. Gentry’s gang have robbed and killed a number of Cherokees.”
“I know,” Brubaker said, “and Judge Parker would like nothin’ more than to hang ’em for it. But the authorities down in Texas have first claim on them because of all the hell they raised down there before coming up here to the Nations. Don’t worry, they’ll get what’s comin’ to ’em.”
“As long as justice is done, that’s all that matters, I suppose,” Graywolf agreed. “I wish we could escort you all the way to the Red River to make sure you reach Texas safely, Forty-two, but we have a job of our own to
