TenDeath amongst the rocks
For the umpteenth time, he slowed down his horse and turned to look out across the plain. Harris, breathing hard, bent over, face racked with pain, said, “What do you see?”
“Something.” The big man reached behind him and groped around inside one of his saddlebags. He uttered a grunt when he retrieved a small pair of field glasses. “Got these off a Prussian associate some years back.” He brandished them in front of Harris. “Damn fine things they are too.” He put them to his eyes and scanned over the area they'd travelled throughout the long, hot day. He didn't grunt this time, but hissed. “Shit.”
Harris perked up, straining his neck to look. “What do you see?”
“Indians.”
“Oh Jesus. I told you they'd come, I told you—”
“Shut up,” snapped the big man. He turne
