CONCHO

Being careful not to silhouette himself against the Wyoming skyline, Jamis spent the next two days cautiously working around and through the canyons and hills until he finally came to a long, open prairie that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. The stage depot was half a day’s ride from here, and then it was another hard day’s ride across open country to Laramie. There was hardly any cover of any kind other than sagebrush and the shallow washes left by the occasional cloudburst. It didn’t rain in this semi-arid climate very often, but once in a blue moon, the sky would open up and pour down. When Jamis reached the stage depot, he found it abandoned. He supposed that one of two things had made the attendant decide to vacate the premises—either the Indians began frequent raids, or he thought better about trying to survive the winter out here alone. The door was ajar, so he went inside and rummaged through the piles of cans and sacks lying around. He found some coffee that hadn’t been torn open and vowed to stop in when someone was home and pay a fair price for it. The Indian sign around the place looked fairly old, so he built a fire in the stove and cooked himself up a good meal with hot coffee to warm his bones. He decided not to risk getting a surprise visit while he slept, so he retrieved his mount from the stable and led him a half mile or so out into the hills and found cover for the night. Jamis finished off a piece of jerky as the sun overtook dawn. He reached into his saddlebag and lifted his binoculars to his eyes. He was thankful he had these. They were U. S. Cavalry issue, dispensed only to scouts and officers, and they were the best available. He slowly and methodically scoured the plain from one horizon to the other. Finally, content that there was nothing moving except the small herds of antelope scattered here and there, he carefully picked a route through a slight depression and moved out, stopping every quarter mile or so and repeated the process. There had been no sign of any human all day, and Jamis had about decided all of his precaution was unnecessary when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. In one single motion he pulled up and slid to the ground. It wasn’t just the movement that alarmed him but the hair standing up on the back of his neck. He rarely got that sensation, and when he did, more often than not, there was reason for alarm. Sure enough, as he glassed the plain to the east, he discovered half a dozen braves slowly working their way up through a little draw.