A ragged trail of over forty riders meandered across the open prairie, outriders ahead. Interspersed along the line were covered wagons, four in total, and the clatter of pans and cooking utensils rang out over the range, signaling their approach. Mason, lying flat on the ridge of a hill, pondered what to do as he watched the procession slowly moving forward.
He rolled over and scrambled down to his own waiting wagon. Newhart was on the buckboard, round-shouldered, still not his former self. He raised his head slightly as Mason came up to him.
“They ain"t soldiers, but there"s enough of them to say they"re out for a fight.”
Newhart frowned. “Indians?”
“No. Not sure who or what they are. They don"t seem like normal settlers. Mainly men, armed. I could see their rifles. Some women are am
