Roose, on his knees studying the ground, raised his head to scour the horizon. From his left came Brown Bear, one of the few Shoshone scouts remaining in this part of the territory, riding his pinto pony without a saddle, a Winchester cradled in his arms. He dropped from the pony and came across to join Roose. He considered the scuffed-up earth and knelt next to the Army scout, fingers testing the earth. “Two days,” he said.
“Maybe. Could be longer. Either way, we’re slowly catching them up.”
“And when we overtake them?”
Standing up, Roose stretched out his back. “Fortunately, that ain’t my call,” he said breathlessly. “Can you see anything else?”
Brown Bear ran the flat of his hand across the ground. “There are ponies here, as well as horses.”
“Indians you think?”
“Some. Comancheros
