the dust.
It wasn’t the first such cloud he had seen recently. In that arid country, any group larger than a few riders raised considerable dust. The cloud was about the same size as the one he had seen a few days earlier as the cavalry patrol approached the wagon train.
Could it be?
The Kid decided the smart thing to do was wait and see. The delay in going after the Apaches grated on him, but he needed to know whether or not he had a new threat galloping toward him. He looked around, spotted a cluster of boulders about half a mile away, and rode toward it, figuring the rocks would conceal him while he got a look at those riders.
Once he was behind the boulders, he dismounted and pulled his Winchester from its saddle sheath. He found a good spot where he could see the approaching dust cloud and waited.
Within a few minutes, he could make out the riders. He thought he saw the bright colors of a flapping guidon, so he fetched his telescope from the saddlebags to check.
Yes, The Kid thought grimly as he peered through the glass, the cavalry had returned ...
Much too late to do any good.
He closed the telescope, put it away, and stepped out from behind the boulders. Pointing the Winchester into the sky, he fired three shots as fast as he could work the rifle’s lever.
The troopers slowed in response to the shots, then turned toward him without stopping. The Kid lowered the Winchester and waited until the blue-uniformed soldiers rode up and reined in.
Lt. Nicholson was in the lead, with Sgt. Brennan behind him. Nicholson stared at The Kid in surprise. “Morgan! What are you doing out here?”
“I’m trailing that Apache war party. What are you doing?”
The lieutenant’s face darkened in anger at the contemptuous tone in The Kid’s voice. “Not that I have to answer to you, but we’re returning to Fort Bliss. We reached the limits of the area we were supposed to patrol.”
“Let me guess. You didn’t see any sign of the Apaches, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, no. What’s that you said about trailing them?”
The Kid didn’t answer the question directly. Instead he snapped, “You didn’t see them because they didn’t want you to see them. They probably knew where you were every minute of the day and night and could have ambushed you at any time. The only reason you’re not dead now is because they found a more tempting target ... that wagon train.”
Nicholson drew in a deep breath and glared down at The Kid from his saddle. “The wagon train?” he repeated.
“That’s right. Except for four women the Apaches carried off as prisoners, every man, woman, and child in that party of immigrants is dead now, and I figure you’re partially to blame for that.”
Angrily, Sgt. Brennan crowded his horse forward. “Hold on just a damned minute! You best keep a respectful tongue in your head when you’re talkin’ to the lieutenant, mister.”
“I’m not in the army. Those gold bars don’t mean anything to me,” The Kid said coldly. “If you’d stayed with the wagons, Nicholson, the Apaches might not have attacked.”
“You can’t be certain of that.”
The Kid shrugged. Nicholson was right about that. He couldn’t be sure. But there was a good chance it was true.
The lieutenant dismounted and handed his reins to Brennan. He turned to The Kid. “Tell me what happened.”
The Kid summed up the bloody, tragic circumstances in as few words as possible. Nicholson’s face had acquired a tan during his service in the Southwest, but he turned pale underneath it as The Kid described how everyone with the wagon train had been killed except for the four women who were taken prisoner.
“You say you were trailing the Apaches?” Nicholson asked when The Kid was finished.
“That’s right. Their tracks are hard to miss.” The Kid paused. “You might have even noticed them if you’d kept riding.”
Nicholson’s lips tightened at the thinly veiled insult. “We saw the glow in the sky
It wasn’t the first such cloud he had seen recently. In that arid country, any group larger than a few riders raised considerable dust. The cloud was about the same size as the one he had seen a few days earlier as the cavalry patrol approached the wagon train.
Could it be?
The Kid decided the smart thing to do was wait and see. The delay in going after the Apaches grated on him, but he needed to know whether or not he had a new threat galloping toward him. He looked around, spotted a cluster of boulders about half a mile away, and rode toward it, figuring the rocks would conceal him while he got a look at those riders.
Once he was behind the boulders, he dismounted and pulled his Winchester from its saddle sheath. He found a good spot where he could see the approaching dust cloud and waited.
Within a few minutes, he could make out the riders. He thought he saw the bright colors of a flapping guidon, so he fetched his telescope from the saddlebags to check.
Yes, The Kid thought grimly as he peered through the glass, the cavalry had returned ...
Much too late to do any good.
He closed the telescope, put it away, and stepped out from behind the boulders. Pointing the Winchester into the sky, he fired three shots as fast as he could work the rifle’s lever.
The troopers slowed in response to the shots, then turned toward him without stopping. The Kid lowered the Winchester and waited until the blue-uniformed soldiers rode up and reined in.
Lt. Nicholson was in the lead, with Sgt. Brennan behind him. Nicholson stared at The Kid in surprise. “Morgan! What are you doing out here?”
“I’m trailing that Apache war party. What are you doing?”
The lieutenant’s face darkened in anger at the contemptuous tone in The Kid’s voice. “Not that I have to answer to you, but we’re returning to Fort Bliss. We reached the limits of the area we were supposed to patrol.”
“Let me guess. You didn’t see any sign of the Apaches, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, no. What’s that you said about trailing them?”
The Kid didn’t answer the question directly. Instead he snapped, “You didn’t see them because they didn’t want you to see them. They probably knew where you were every minute of the day and night and could have ambushed you at any time. The only reason you’re not dead now is because they found a more tempting target ... that wagon train.”
Nicholson drew in a deep breath and glared down at The Kid from his saddle. “The wagon train?” he repeated.
“That’s right. Except for four women the Apaches carried off as prisoners, every man, woman, and child in that party of immigrants is dead now, and I figure you’re partially to blame for that.”
Angrily, Sgt. Brennan crowded his horse forward. “Hold on just a damned minute! You best keep a respectful tongue in your head when you’re talkin’ to the lieutenant, mister.”
“I’m not in the army. Those gold bars don’t mean anything to me,” The Kid said coldly. “If you’d stayed with the wagons, Nicholson, the Apaches might not have attacked.”
“You can’t be certain of that.”
The Kid shrugged. Nicholson was right about that. He couldn’t be sure. But there was a good chance it was true.
The lieutenant dismounted and handed his reins to Brennan. He turned to The Kid. “Tell me what happened.”
The Kid summed up the bloody, tragic circumstances in as few words as possible. Nicholson’s face had acquired a tan during his service in the Southwest, but he turned pale underneath it as The Kid described how everyone with the wagon train had been killed except for the four women who were taken prisoner.
“You say you were trailing the Apaches?” Nicholson asked when The Kid was finished.
“That’s right. Their tracks are hard to miss.” The Kid paused. “You might have even noticed them if you’d kept riding.”
Nicholson’s lips tightened at the thinly veiled insult. “We saw the glow in the sky
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