The Loner: Inferno #12 by J.A. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page B

as well.
    “Maybe I should do some scouting myself,” The Kid suggested. “Three pairs of eyes have to be better than two.”
    “That’s up to you. Do whatever you want.”
    He left her getting the oxen in their traces and sought out Horace Dunlap again.
    “I was thinking I’d go out with Harwood and Farnum,” he told the wagonmaster.
    Dunlap frowned. “Scott and Milo already left. They were gonna split up and cover both sides of the trail.”
    “I could ride directly in front of the wagons, then.”
    “I didn’t think you knew how to get to Raincrow Valley. You’d never heard of the place.”
    “You’re headed west, and you said the valley was still three days from here, so you won’t reach it today. I think I can handle riding west.”
    Dunlap shrugged his brawny shoulders. “That’s fine with me, if that’s what you want to do, Kid. You’ll be able to see our dust behind you. Don’t get more than a mile or so ahead of us, though, in case you run into trouble and have to light a shuck back here.”
    The Kid nodded his agreement and went to get his horse. By the time he saddled the dun and led him back to the front of the wagon train, all the teams were in their traces and the wagons were ready to roll.
    “I’ll see you later,” he told Dunlap.
    “Come back in when it gets to be the middle of the day,” Dunlap said. “We’ll stop and eat.”
    “Sounds good.” The Kid glanced back along the line of canvas-covered vehicles. Jessica’s wagon was the ninth in line. She had donned her sunbonnet and climbed to the high seat on the front of the wagon to grip the reins in her hands. The Kid thought she gave him a slight nod, but he couldn’t be sure.
    He lifted a hand and touched his fingers to the brim of his hat anyway, then turned and heeled the dun into motion. The horse carried him in an easy lope across the arid plains, and the wagons soon dwindled in the distance behind him.

Chapter 7
     
    Dunlap had been right about The Kid being able to see the wagon train’s dust behind him. Every time he looked back over his shoulder, the pale cloud hung in the sky that was already turning brassy, even though the sun hadn’t been up for long.
    If the dust wasn’t there, it would mean the wagons had stopped. If that happened before midday, it probably meant trouble. For that reason, The Kid checked his back trail fairly often.
    Most of his attention was focused in front of him and to the sides. Not many places to hide existed in the mostly featureless landscape. There were a few hills here and there, so small they were nothing more than knolls. He didn’t see how a war party of a hundred Apache warriors could conceal themselves behind such skimpy cover.
    It was more likely they would be hiding in one of the dry washes that slashed across the land. From time to time a cloudburst would dump a lot of rain into the hills that rose to the north, and that water had to go somewhere. It cut arroyos into the plains as it rushed southward from the hills. Once the thirsty ground had sucked up all the water, nothing was left but the bone-dry courses through which it had run.
    Most of those arroyos were shallow, but some were deep enough to hide men on horseback. Whenever The Kid came to one, he reined in and studied it carefully before he began searching for a place where the banks were shallow enough to allow the wagons to cross. Some of the washes were straight and he could see a good distance along them in both directions.
    Others, however, twisted and turned, winding their way across the plains like a snake, and those were the ones that made The Kid nervous. He had no way of knowing what might lurk just around the nearest bend.
    But as the sun rose higher and the morning passed, he didn’t see any signs of life except for a few snakes and lizards, and every now and then a distant rider pacing him. He knew that was either Scott Harwood or Milo Farnum.
    At midday the dust cloud from the wagon train began to