The Devil Gun by J. T. Edson Page B

adjustments to packs and saddles while allowing their mounts to clear themselves and graze.
    From then on the remainder of the day had been pure hard work. Alternating between riding at a trot and walking, leading the horses, the men covered mile after mile. Every hour brought a halt, the first and second short and giving the horses time to blow, but on the third hour long enough for the men to off-saddle and let each mount’s back dry off, then the horses were grain fed and allowed to graze before being saddled and moved on. In that manner, they covered around forty miles the first day and, as long as the horses held out, ought to make at least thirty more each day by using the same methods. If so, they should reach the Brazos River’s fork area in time to organise a search for Castle’s wagons.
    Moving on that morning, the party made good time until they approached the Red River ford selected by Dusty as best suited to their purposes. Sam Ysabel had been ahead to scout the small ford and he sat back from the edge, keeping under cover when the others arrived.
    ‘Bunch went across last night, Cap’n,’ he reported. ‘Fair-sized party. From the sign they kept going, followed that stream there west.’
    Kiowa rode by the others and went to the river’s edge, looking down at the tracks. Turning, he said, ‘Be about fifteen of ‘em, some packhosses. One of ‘em’s a purty lil gal.’
    ‘Don’t see no footprints,’ Ysabel remarked.
    ‘Never yet saw a danged Comanche’s could read sign,’ answered Kiowa with a faint mouth movement that passed as a broad friendly grin in his circle.
    ‘Danged Injun varmints,’ Billy Jack put in, enjoying the inter-tribal rivalry expressed by the two sergeants.
    ‘Ashley’s bunch of bushwhackers?’ guessed Dusty. ‘Looks like they didn’t listen to me. Let’s cross.’
    ‘And ‘fore ole Kiowa here swells up and busts a gut with all this funning,’ Billy Jack went on to Ysabel. ‘We trailed Ashley’s bunch for so long that even I can pick out their hosses’ tracks.’
    ‘Paleface brother got heap big mouth,’ grunted Kiowa, ‘Side with Comanches too. I—’
    ‘Move over!’ Dusty ordered.
    All levity left the men and they advanced as a unit ready to fight. The water came barely to the level of the stirrup irons and the river’s bed offered a firm, safe footing so that the party experienced no difficulty in making their crossing. Nor were they opposed during the crossing and on the other side continued their journey. They followed the same line as the bushwhackers had the previous night.
    ‘Smoke up ahead,’ Ysabel said, pointing. ‘Soon know if our Kiowa brother can read sign or not.’
    ‘Likely,’ Dusty replied. ‘It’s on our line of march and I don’t want to waste time going around. Remember the arrangements happen we get jumped by Yankees—even Kiowa can make a mistake.’
    Among other things before leaving the Texas Light Cavalry’s camp, Dusty made arrangements for action should they be attacked. Not wishing to make a fight unless forced, he planned well and Marsden admitted that the small Texan thought of the best way to handle the situation.
    The reference to a bushwhacker band left Marsden feeling puzzled. After the raid on the Kansas town of Lawrence, both Union and Confederate Governments disowned the various irregular bands and ordered a cessation of all guerilla activity. From the direction they took, Marsden concluded that Dusty meant to visit the bushwhacker camp. Of course, if the smoke ahead proved to be no more than the bushwhackers’, Dusty’s party did not need to make a detour; and Marsden knew that every mile saved was of vital importance on their mission.
    Topping the rim brought the camp into sight at a distance of almost half a mile. From all appearances the bushwhackers were preparing to move out. Men saddled horses, packed up their gear, but as yet had not struck the one tent erected.
    Even as the party started down the