J. Johnstone: The Loner: Inferno #12

Dunlap nodded, but The Kid saw the doubt in the wagonmaster’s eyes. The Apaches were so good at hiding, sometimes when they attacked it seemed like they came up from the very ground itself, like worms rising from the earth after a hard rain.

Some of the immigrants were hitching up their teams and getting ready to roll the wagons. All The Kid had to do was saddle his dun, so he took the time to enjoy the breakfast the woman had put aside for him.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” he asked.

“I’m Mrs. Price. Violet Price.” She was about forty, a pleasant-looking woman with short brown hair.

The Kid still hadn’t seen Jessica that morning. But as he approached her wagon a few minutes later, she emerged from the canvas-covered bed and dropped to the ground.

“Good morning,” he said. “Do you need a hand getting your team hitched?”

Jessica didn’t hesitate. She shook her head. “No, I’ve been hitching them up every morning for weeks. I think I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can. Just thought it might be easier with a little help.”

“How many teams of oxen have you handled, Mr. Morgan?”

“Well ... none, really,” The Kid admitted.

“That’s what I thought. If you really want to help, you can stay out of my way.”

“Seems to me like your fiancé might be over here giving you a hand.”

“Scott has more important things to do,” Jessica snapped. “Like making sure there aren’t any Apaches waiting for us around the next bend in the trail.”

The Kid supposed that was true. He had seen Harwood ride out a few minutes earlier, along with Milo Farnum.

“It’s a dangerous job, too,” Jessica went on. “Out there in front of the wagons by himself, he’s liable to be attacked if he runs into any savages.”

That was true, as well.

“Maybe I should do some scouting myself,” The Kid suggested. “Three pairs of eyes have to be better than two.”

“That’s up to you. Do whatever you want.”

He left her getting the oxen in their traces and sought out Horace Dunlap again.

“I was thinking I’d go out with Harwood and Farnum,” he told the wagonmaster.

Dunlap frowned. “Scott and Milo already left. They were gonna split up and cover both sides of the trail.”

“I could ride directly in front of the wagons, then.”

“I didn’t think you knew how to get to Raincrow Valley. You’d never heard of the place.”

“You’re headed west, and you said the valley was still three days from here, so you won’t reach it today. I think I can handle riding west.”

Dunlap shrugged his brawny shoulders. “That’s fine with me, if that’s what you want to do, Kid. You’ll be able to see our dust behind you. Don’t get more than a mile or so ahead of us, though, in case you run into trouble and have to light a shuck back here.”

The Kid nodded his agreement and went to get his horse. By the time he saddled the dun and led him back to the front of the wagon train, all the teams were in their traces and the wagons were ready to roll.

“I’ll see you later,” he told Dunlap.

“Come back in when it gets to be the middle of the day,” Dunlap said. “We’ll stop and eat.”

“Sounds good.” The Kid glanced back along the line of canvas-covered vehicles. Jessica’s wagon was the ninth in line. She had donned her sunbonnet and climbed to the high seat on the front of the wagon to grip the reins in her hands. The Kid thought she gave him a slight nod, but he couldn’t be sure.

He lifted a hand and touched his fingers to the brim of his hat anyway, then turned and heeled the dun into motion. The horse carried him in an easy lope across the arid plains, and the wagons soon dwindled in the distance behind him.

Chapter 7

Dunlap had been right about The Kid being able to see the wagon train’s dust behind him. Every time he looked back over his shoulder, the pale cloud hung in the sky that was already turning brassy, even though the sun hadn’t been up for long.

If the dust wasn’t there, it would mean the wagons had stopped. If that happened before midday, it probably meant trouble. For that reason, The Kid checked his back trail fairly often.

Most of his attention was focused in front of him and to the sides. Not many places to hide existed in the mostly featureless landscape. There were a few hills here and there, so small they were nothing more than knolls. He didn’t see how a war party of a hundred Apache warriors could conceal themselves behind such skimpy cover.

It was more likely they would be hiding in one of the dry washes that slashed across the land. From time to time a cloudburst would dump a lot of rain into the hills that rose to the north, and that water had to go somewhere. It cut arroyos into the plains as it rushed southward from the hills. Once the thirsty ground had sucked up all the water, nothing was left but the bone-dry courses through which it had run.

Most of those arroyos were shallow, but some were deep enough to hide men on horseback. Whenever The Kid came to one, he reined in and studied it carefully before he began searching for a place where the banks were shallow enough to allow the wagons to cross. Some of the washes were straight and he could see a good distance along them in both directions.

Others, however, twisted and turned, winding their way across the plains like a snake, and those were the ones that made The Kid nervous. He had no way of knowing what might lurk just around the nearest bend.

But as the sun rose higher and the morning passed, he didn’t see any signs of life except for a few snakes and lizards, and every now and then a distant rider pacing him. He knew that was either Scott Harwood or Milo Farnum.

At midday the dust cloud from the wagon train began to dissipate, telling The Kid the canvas-covered vehicles had come to a stop. He turned and rode back toward the train. It didn’t take long for the wagons to come into view.

When he looked to the sides, he saw Harwood and Farnum angling in toward the wagons, too.

The Kid hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, only an occasional sip from his canteen, so his belly was empty. Horace Dunlap waved him on in. “Mrs. Ritter said for me to tell you to come on back to her wagon. She’ll have food for you and Scott.”

“Much obliged,” The Kid said with a nod for the wagonmaster. He was a little surprised Jessica had volunteered to feed him. She seemed to be a walking contradiction, interested in him one moment, and sharp and angry with him the next.

When he reached the wagon he saw that Scott Harwood had beaten him there. In fact, Harwood was standing at the rear of the vehicle, next to the lowered tailgate where Jessica had spread a cloth with some thick sandwiches on it. He had a hand on her shoulder, and the stance was definitely intimate.

Harwood moved his hand and stepped away as he saw The Kid coming. “Horace told me you’d been out there scouting this morning. See anything unusual?”

The Kid shook his head. “Just a lot of miles of nothing. This is pretty empty country.”

“That’s true,” Harwood agreed.

“Did you know the Apaches were raiding on this side of the border when you started out here?”

Jessica said, “You can talk about the Apaches later. Right now you both need to eat.”

The Kid took the sandwich she gave him. It was a chunk of roast beef between two thick slices of bread smeared with butter, and he thought it was good. Not the sort of gourmet fare he’d been accustomed to in his former life as Conrad Browning, but a lot better than gnawing on a hunk of jerky.

One of the other women brought them cups of hot coffee. By the time The Kid finished the meal, he felt revitalized and ready to ride out again.