Chapter 102

Even now the ambusher probably had his sights pointed straight at where my head would appear when I came up for a look. Unless he was riding down on us to finish the job. I snatched a quick look. No one was racing toward us. Neither did he shoot at me. I rolled to another small depression closer to where Bear lay. Again, no shot.

Puzzled, I risked a longer look. Nothing stirred in the rocks. A movement down the road drew my attention. Arrow was trotting back toward me. Wind followed at a more leisurely pace. The sight of Bear’s rifle in a sheath on the gray’s saddle started me thinking. Hanlihan—if it was the deserter—was a military marksman. Not every trooper was a crack shot, but I had to assume he was competent. A rifle in his hands, instead of the carbine, would have spelled the end of both of us. So why wasn’t he riding all out for the horse carrying the weapon he wanted?