COLE returned to his horse and stood there for a moment, contemplating the saddle. He felt tired and worried.
“What’s wrong?”
Cole turned to Monroe, sitting big and proud on the back of his horse. He looked bored but not tired. Alert, as if he expected something. Cole didn’t know what, but his unease grew with each passing minute he shared in this man’s company. “Tracks,” he said quietly and heaved himself into his saddle.
“What, you mean signs?”
“That’s right.”
“So, we’re on the right path?”
“They ain’t making any secret of where they’re heading. But one of them is on foot.”
“Could be the woman.”
“That’s my thinking too. She’s old, and I’m not sure how much she can take out in this heat.” To give his words more weight, he took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his neckerchie
