Travis woke just as the dawn was beginning to break and there was a streak of red orange across the eastern sky. He sat up suddenly, as if he thought the enemy, the Rebels, were approaching. He had not awakened so quickly and so alertly since he had opted out of the army and left the fields of Gettysburg far behind him.
He stood up and moved around the giant rock where he could look out on the road. There was nothing on it. Nothing around it. Nothing anywhere to wake him. Just something in the air that made him uneasy. An odor or a sound that was below the level of perception. Something that was there but at such a low level that he wasn’t consciously aware of it. Something frightening that he couldn’t see.
He walked back and looked down at Crockett. She was lying on her side, her eyes opened. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Be full light here in about thirty minutes or so.”
“You want to get started?”
“It’ll give us all day for travel. We can put a lot of miles in if we get started early enough.”
She threw the blanket off and sat up. She was wearing a light cotton shirt and dungarees. They looked to be molded to her body and Travis found himself staring at her. He pulled his eyes away.
“There enough time for coffee?”
Travis looked down at the fire. It had burned itself out during the night. “It’d take an hour to find the wood and get the fire going. Let’s just move on.
She moved to the wagon, climbed into the back, and took the lid off one of the water barrels. She dipped a hand in and took a drink. She then leaned over, her face only inches from the water, and splashed it up onto her cheeks and forehead.
“What in the hell are you doing?” snapped Thivis.
“Washing my face.”
“That water is for drinking and for cooking. It is for the horse and for us and has to last us while we ride around in the desert. It is not for bathing.”
She stood up, her face dripping. “I was just washing my face.”
“In the desert, it is a luxury that you cannot afford.”
“When’d you become such an expert on the desert?” she asked.
“I’m just using common sense. Water is in short supply, so you don’t waste it.”
“Fine. I won’t wash my face.” She slammed the lid back onto the top of the barrel.
“At the water holes,” said Travis. “That’s different. Plenty of water there. But we have to be careful so we don’t run out between here and the water hole.”
“All right,” she said. “I understand.” Her face was an angry mask.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked, surprised by her sudden anger.
“Nothing. I just don’t need lectures. I didn’t waste that much water.”
Travis realized that the argument was no longer about wasted water. There was something else going on that he didn’t quite understand. He looked away from her and her wet face and mumbled, “Sorry.”
“Sure,” she said.
“No, really,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He walked away then and began getting the horses ready to hitch to the wagon. He moved one around and backed it up toward the front of the wagon. He pulled at the leather harness, threw part of it over the animal’s back, and worked to buckle it to the tongue. Finished, he repeated the process with the other horse. Then he made sure that the reins were clear, running his hands along them and finally tying them to the brake handle.
When he finished, he saw that Crockett had picked up the blankets, folded them, and tossed them in the back of the wagon. Without a word to Travis she climbed up and sat down.
Travis stood there for a moment, looking around. The fire was out and there was nothing left behind to show that they had been there. He then got up on the seat beside her, untied the reins, and shook them so that they rippled across the backs of the horses.
They pulled out from behind the rocks and then angled toward the road.
“North from here,” she said.
“I know that.”
“Then just follow the road.”
Bailey rode closer to Davis and said, “I think there is someone behind us.”
Davis turned in the saddle and scanned the horizon to the south. The land was open and there didn’t seem to be anyone there. No sign of riders.
“Who?”
Bailey kept his eyes forward and said, “Apaches. Been there since last night.”
“You sure? I don’t see anything.”
“And you won’t unless they want to be seen.” He fell silent and watched the ground at his horse’s feet. “Apaches know what happened to their men at the water hole.”
“You can’t know that,” said Davis.
“I can feel it,” said Bailey.
Davis turned and faced the other man. He knew Bailey as a merchant. Not someone who had the second sight. Not someone who had a feeling for Apaches or understood them.
“I’d like something a little more tangible,” said Davis.
“They’re out there,” said Bailey. “When you can’t see them, it’s when they’re there.”
“Crap,” said Davis. “If you can’t see them, it means you can’t see them. It doesn’t mean they’re spooks able to appear and disappear at will.”
“I know they’re following us.” Bailey still didn’t look up at Davis. “We’re leaving enough signs that an old lady in a wagon could follow us.”
“If you want to ride on back to Sweetwater, I’m sure that no one will object. If you’re scared, that is.”
“No,” said Bailey. “The last thing we can do is split up. We do that and they’ll take us one at a time. Whittle us down until we won’t be able to defend ourselves.”
“Damn, I don’t like the way you’re talking,” said Davis.
“I’m just saying what’s true. Apaches are back there, dogging our trail, waiting for a chance to jump us. We need to find a place to defend.”
“Cave’s the perfect place,” said Davis. “Gives us cover and limits the direction the Apaches can take to get at us. We’ll just have to press on.”
“Maybe if we turned around,” said Bailey, “they’d leave us alone. If they think we’re going after the gold, they might just jump us.”
Davis took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his face. He put his hat on carefully. “You want to head back,” he said again, “you go right on.”
“Not alone.”
“Then just shut up. I don’t want to hear any more of this talk about them being out there. Keep it to yourself.”
Bailey nodded and said, “Thought you’d want to know.”
“I don’t want to know. If you just feel them out there, you keep it to yourself.”
Bailey spurred his horse and galloped off to the front of the short column. He slowed there and fell in behind Webster. Davis watched him go and then turned in his saddle. Again he scanned the ground behind them. Nothing there to suggest that the Apaches were following. Nothing to suggest there was anyone back there.
Settling down, he wondered if Bailey might not be right. The Apaches had to know that their men at the watering hold were dead. And they wouldn’t have to be very good to be able to follow the trail. Davis and his men had done nothing to hide it.
Now Davis rode forward quickly. He slowed near Culhaine. “I think we’d better start watching our back trail.”
“There a reason for that?”
“Apaches are going to be looking for the men who killed those bucks. They shouldn’t have trouble following us.”
“Thought we buried the bodies to prevent that.”
Davis nodded. He felt light-headed, as if he’d been dipping into the whiskey too often and drinking it too fast. He wished, for that moment, that he was back in Sweetwater where everything was cut and dried.
“I just want to be ready in case.”
Culhaine nodded and reined his horse around. He rode back the way they had come and then halted. He sat there waiting to see if anything moved near the horizon.
Davis watched Culhaine for a moment and then turned. Suddenly he was worried about the Apaches all because Bailey had a feeling.
“Damn,” he said.
Freeman stood at the top of the ridge, his hand out against a rock so that it looked as if he was holding himself up. Far below him on the desert, he could see movement. The wagon was obvious. The horses were a dark brown against the lighter brown, the tan of the desert.
Off to the right, at the very limits of his vision, was another group of riders. He couldn’t make out who they were or even exactly how many there were. Maybe a dozen. Maybe a couple more.
Crosby was kneeling next to him, holding the reins of both their horses. He was watching the wagon as it followed the road to the north.
“I told you they’d be easy to find,” said Freeman. “They’re heading toward the gold now.”
“Who’s that off to the right?” said Crosby.
“Probably some of the others who heard that old man shooting his mouth off.”
“You think they’re following the wagon?”
Freeman turned his attention to the horsemen. There was something wrong with them. Something about them that he couldn’t quite place. He watched until they disappeared, riding over a ridgeline. He then looked back at the wagon. It didn’t seem to be in a hurry.
“Doesn’t look like they’re following the wagon. Looks like they know where they’re going.”
“We going to head out?” said Crosby.
Freeman watched as the wagon climbed a slight hill and then reached the crest. A moment later it vanished. “Now we go,” he said.
Crosby handed Freeman the reins for his horse and then swung up into the saddle. Freeman stood for a moment, searching the desert to the right. The riders who had been there had not returned. Now there was nothing moving anywhere on the desert except for the dust devils being stirred by the hot winds blowing from the south.
“We going?” asked Crosby again.
Freeman nodded but still watched the horizon to the east. He wished that he had gotten a better look at the riders there. He wished that he had been able to identify them.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re going.”