He’d met up with Brown Bear not far from the town limits. The Shoshone scout sat on a large boulder, whittling away at an old twig. As Cole drew his horse close, the Indian looked up. “His trail is easy to follow, like he is wanting us to find him.”
“You think it’s a trap,” Cole said, searching the horizon for any sign of Burroughs. A dust cloud, an image, anything.
“Could be. Or maybe he doesn’t care.”
“Then why escape?”
Brown Bear shrugged. “Mr Roose, he is not too hurt?”
“He’ll live, although I couldn’t get much sense out of him. Someone bashed him over the head real good, but he’ll recover. Afraid I can’t say the same for the captain.”
“The captain I do not care about so much. He treated us bad. You know that.”
“I thought at one point he was in cahoots with Burroughs. I’m still
