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  “All right. Let me get you into camp.”

  “No! It hurts too bad. I’m done, mister. Smelled your food a-cookin’. Nice talkin’ with you.” The man smiled, closed his eyes, and never opened them again on this side of the veil.

  Frank left him and went back to get his shovel. He told Julie what had happened, and she said, “I’ll get a blanket to wrap him in. It’s only proper.”

  Frank pulled the skillet with the bacon off the fire and set it aside. He looked at Dog and pointed. “You leave that alone,” he said.

  If a dog could smile, Dog did.

  “On second thought,” Frank said, and set the skillet high up on a large rock, then went and got his shovel. Julie joined him by the body. Frank told her about the money belt. “I want you to have it, Julie. If the man had lived he would have said the same thing.”

  “All right, Frank,” she said softly.

  Frank dug the hole and slipped the man in it, then shoveled the dirt over him. When that was done, he spent some time gathering rocks to generously cover the mound. “I didn’t think to ask his name. I don’t reckon it makes much difference. Dead is dead. In a year or so there won’t be any sign of the grave.”

  “But we’ll know where it is,” Julie said. “As long as somebody is alive who remembers, he won’t be forgotten.”

  “I reckon that’s so, Julie.”

  When they got back to camp, Dog was sitting staring up at the skillet on the large rock. “Oh, all right,” Frank told him. “You can have a biscuit and some bacon.”

  “The biscuits!” Julie said, looking at the camp oven.

  Dog had not bothered the biscuits.

  “Good boy,” Frank told him. “For that you can have two biscuits.”

  “What else do you feed him on the trail?” Julie asked.

  “Bully beef, rabbit or squirrel if I can manage to shoot one. I have killed a small deer and jerked the meat for him.”

  “That is a spoiled dog.”

  Frank smiled. “Yes, he is. He’s also very good company on the trail and he’s a fine watchdog.”

  “I’ve noticed that. How do you keep him smelling so good?”

  “Strong soap and bay rum,” Frank said with a laugh.

  “You’re joshing about the bay rum, aren’t you?”

  “No. I keep a jug of it with me. Dog likes it too.”

  Julie shook her head at the thought of a dog wearing men’s lotion. “I thought I recognized the scent. Bay rum on a dog,” she muttered.

  Frank got the skillet down from the rock, and once more set it on the rack over the fire. “These biscuits are ready. How about the potatoes?”

  “One more to go,” Julie said, grabbing up a potato and a paring knife. “Frank?”

  He looked at her.

  “What if my girls are not at the camp?”

  “I’ll try to free any who are there.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. We go on looking, don’t we?”

  “Of course. There are five camps. The last one is down along Tonto Creek. According to Tom, it’s not far from an old trading post that I’m familiar with. I know the fella who runs it. He was one of the last of the mountain men. Name is Dewey. He ought to be about a hundred years old now.”

  Julie looked at him dubiously.

  “Well . . . in his early eighties, at least,” Frank admitted.

  “That’s better.” She placed the peeled and sliced potatoes in with the bacon.

  “I have some onions, if you like them in with the fried potatoes.”

  “I do. You’re a good cook, Frank.”

  “Learned to be. Either that or starve to death. Soon as the bacon is good and done, I’ll add the onions.”

  Julie stood up and stretched. To Frank’s eye, the movement did marvels for the men’s jeans the woman was wearing.

  She turned to look at him, and Frank quicky averted his eyes . . . but not before she noticed him looking at her.

  “I’ll get that jar of jam out of the supplies,” she said softly.

  “It’ll taste good for dessert.”

  “Yes. Then I guess we’d best get ready for bed.”

  “I reckon.” Frank watched her walk away. Very handsome woman. Shapely. It was going to an interesting trip for sure.

  Seven

  Frank spotted the buzzards circling long before they reached the camp of the outlaws. Or rather, what was left of the camp . . . and the outlaws.

  “I know what it means,” Julie said. “I’ve seen buzzards circling before.”

  “But have you seen what they can do to a body?”

  “Several times, Frank. I told you, I was raised on the frontier.”

  “Sure you don’t want to hang back and keep an eye on Dog?”

  “I will if you absolutely insist.”

  Frank shook his head. “No. I won’t do that. We’ll ride on in. The buzzards tell me the Indians have left.”

  “How do you know it was Indians?”

  Frank pointed to the ground. “Unshod pony tracks. I’ve been seeing them off and on for the last few miles.”

  “If there were hostages with the outlaws?” she questioned.

  “They would have been better off being sold into prostitution.” He shook his head. “Of course, that all depends on what tribe of Apaches this was. And how old the women are. If they’re middle-aged, they’d be raped and then probably killed. Young girls would be taken. Julie, when we get closer, I want you to stay back with Dog for a time until I check the camp out. I’ll call you in if it’s clear.”

  “All right.”

  They rode a few hundred more yards before the smell hit them hard. Dog growled, and Julie frowned and wrinkled her nose.

  “The Apaches had some fun torturing the prisoners. They burned some of them alive. One favorite trick of the Apaches is to cut out a man’s tongue, then cut the tendons so he can’t walk and let him just flop around on the ground. That’s funny to them.”

  “Do you hate the Apaches, Frank?”

  “Hate? No, I don’t hate them. I don’t have much use for them, I’ll certainly admit that. The Apaches have just about been brought to their knees. It won’t be many more years before they’re a conquered people. But even when corralled and put on reservations, they’ll always be a burden to the white man. Not just the Apaches, but most tribes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they resist change. A hundred years from now they’ll still be resisting change; insisting on holding on to the old ways.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “In a world of constant change, yes, it is. I doubt the Indian has changed much in a thousand years. Not of his own choosing, that is. That’s why the whites are winning, and will continue to win.”

  Julie waited several hundred yards from the outlaw camp while Frank went in alone, on foot. He waded in among several belligerent and stubborn buzzards, feasting on the bloating corpses, and knocked them out of the way with his rifle. The buzzards were too full of human flesh and innards to fly; they could only waddle away and stare angrily at Frank.

  Frank didn’t expect to find anyone alive, and he didn’t. The Apaches had had themselves a fine time with the outlaws. They had outdone themselves when it came to torture. Frank had never seen any worse than what he saw that day.

  He called Julie in with the horses and Dog.

  Dog had himself a high old time chasing the buzzards away, and while Dog was doing that, Julie went off behind a wagon to puke. Waiting for her to finish, Frank prowled around the carnage a bit more. He found a few things the Apaches had missed: several boxes of ammunition, a cache of money hidden in a false compartment in a wagon, a bottle of whiskey, and some women’s underthings. He pointed out the undergarments to Julie.

  “So they had some of the hostages with them,” she said.

  “Maybe, maybe not. These things just might have been left in the wagon.” He showed her the money. “I’ll keep this for you, Julie.”

  “I’m n
ot familiar with that wagon, Frank. It wasn’t one of them that rolled with us.”

  “I know. No telling where it came from. It doesn’t matter. The money’s still yours.”

  “Throw those underthings away. I don’t want them. I’m not wearing some other woman’s drawers.”

  Frank nodded and tossed the garments on the ground.

  “Are you going to bury these men?” she asked.

  “I hadn’t planned on it.”

  “Just leave them?”

  “No. I’ll drag them over to that ravine yonder and dump them in, then try to collapse some earth and rocks over them.”

  “They’re outlaws, Frank. I recognize some of them from the attack and just afterward, before the gang split up.”

  Again, Frank nodded. “Pick some of that brittlebrush there,” he pointed, “and bunches of that owl clover yonder. I’ll fix a small fire and you can toss it in the flames. That will help kill some of this dead stink.”

  “Gladly,” Julie said, and hurriedly went to work while Frank set about building a small fire in the center of the death camp.

  During a rest break in dragging the bodies to the ravine, Julie called, “I found some brand-new men’s jeans and shirts, Frank. They’ve never been worn. I’ve got enough clothes to last me for a while now.”

  “Prowl around some more,” Frank called. “No telling what you might discover that we can find a use for.”

  Frank really wanted to keep her away from the dead men, for some of them, during the dragging, had busted open and the smell was really bad. And the blowflies and maggots were busy working. All in all, it was not a pleasant sight. . . or smell.

  Frank finally got all the men over the side of the ravine, and managed to collapse some dirt and rocks on top of them. “Hell with it,” Frank panted. “That’s going to have to do.” He wiped the sweat from his face, for the day was warm and hauling off the bodies had been a job.

  The buzzards had either flown off or waddled out of sight, much to the displeasure of Dog, for he had been having a good time chasing them. “You better be glad you didn’t catch one,” Frank told him, heading for his canteen and a long drink of water. “Those critters have the equipment to be mean.”

  “Are we ready to go?” Julie asked.

  “Any time you are. Did you find anything else you could use?”

  “Nothing at all. But I’ll be very happy when we find a creek and I can take a bath—get this death smell off me.”

  “I could sure use a bath myself. And so could Dog. I’ve got some strong soap.”

  “And some bay rum,” Julie said with a smile.

  “Two jugs of that,” Frank said, returning the smile. “One for me and one for Dog. Let’s ride.”

  * * *

  It was sixty miles over some rough and rugged country to the next outlaw camp. It took Frank and Julie just over four days to reach it. Frank saw plenty of signs of Indians, but no Indians. And for that, he was very grateful.

  They found the camp of the outlaws, but no outlaws. It had been abandoned.

  “Three or four days ago, I’d guess,” Frank said after checking the droppings in the makeshift corral.

  “Where is the next camp?”

  “About thirty-five miles south of here, on the Mogollon Mesa. And it looks as though that’s where this bunch took off to.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “I don’t know. There’s no sign of any battle having been fought here.”

  Julie was prowling around the deserted camp. Frank heard her gasp and whirled around, Peacemaker in hand. Julie was holding a bandanna.

  “My Susan was wearing this when we were attacked. It belonged to her father. She was here, Frank. She was here!”

  Frank walked to her. Julie was holding the bandanna tightly. “We’ve got to go, Frank. We’ve got to leave right now. Come on!”

  Frank gripped her arm. “It’ll be dark soon, Julie. And this is a good place to make camp. That’s a little creek over yonder, and we’re both tired and could use a good wash. Just settle down and think about it.”

  Julie struggled with Frank for a moment, then abruptly started weeping and fell against him. Frank put his arms around her and held her.

  “They’re alive, Frank,” she sobbed. “They’re alive!”

  “I know, Julie. I know.”

  “We’ve got to find them.”

  “We will. I promise you, we won’t stop looking.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise, Julie. We’ll search every camp for your girls.” He patted her shoulder. “Right now, I want you to settle down and rest for a few moments. I’ll make some coffee for us. Would you like some?”

  She nodded her head against his chest.

  “All right. That’s better. Now come on and sit down over here. You rest while I—”

  “No!” she blurted out, pushing back away from him. “I’ll see to a fire and the making of coffee.” She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “You’ve got to take care of the horses and unloading of supplies. Go on, Frank. I’ll be all right. Just give me a few minutes; let me collect myself.”

  “Sure?”

  “I’m sure. Go on with you.” She managed a smile.

  Frank led the horses down to the creek and let them drink, then took them out to a small clearing and let them roll. Then he hobbled them and left them to graze. He walked the short distance back to the camp area, and busied himself rigging a rope for a picket line. He wasn’t about to leave the horses away from the camp with Apaches on the prowl.

  He heard Julie scream and whirled around, his hand dropping to the butt of his .45. Julie was standing at the edge of the clearing, pointing. Frank ran to her side. His eyes followed her shaking finger.

  He could see nothing. He stared at Julie for a moment. “What is it, Julie? What did you see?”

  “A girl,” she replied in a quivering voice. “Right down there. I swear I did, Frank. I saw a young girl in a very soiled dress.”

  “Stay here. I’ll take a look.”

  Frank slid his Peacemaker from leather and stepped down into the brush. He looked carefully around him after taking each step. Then his eyes began to adjust to the gloom, and he began to see signs of where someone had moved around. . . crawled around would be more like it. He stepped deeper into the brush and saw a piece of fabric that had been ripped off by a thorny bush. He pulled the fabric from the long thorn. The fabric was soiled, Julie had been right about that. But not by dirt. By blood.

  “Do you see anything, Frank?” Julie called.

  “Stay where you are, Julie.”

  “You did find something!”

  “Stay put!” Frank yelled.

  “Mama!” a girl called from Frank’s left.

  Julie screamed, and came running as fast as she could through the brush.

  “Mama!”

  Frank tried to head Julie off. She shoved him out of the way and raced past him, yelling her child’s name.

  Frank holstered his .45 and ran after Julie, catching up with her just as she stopped and screamed. He ran into her, almost knocking her down.

  Susan Barnes lay on the ground in front of them. Her face was bruised and her dress bloody and torn. But she was alive.

  Julie fainted.

  Eight

  Frank caught Julie and lowered her to the ground. He turned toward Susan and took a step. The girl moaned and huddled herself into a ball, crying out, “No! Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Leave me alone.”

  “Easy now, girl,” Frank said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m with your mother, Susan. You’re going to be all right now. I promise.”

  Susan opened her eyes and looked at Frank. “Mr. Morgan?”

  “Yes, honey. It’s me. Let me help you up.”

  Susan held out a hand and Frank took it, carefully helping the young girl to her feet. She was a mess. Her dress was no more than rags, hanging on her. Her face was bruised. It looked as though someone had used her for a punching bag.
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  Julie moaned and sat up.

  “Mama,” Susan said. She knelt down beside her mother and put her arms around her.

  Mother and daughter embraced for a long moment before Julie pushed her away and looked at her. Then they embraced again for a few seconds. Susan stood up and helped her mother to her feet.

  “How did you get free of those terrible people?” Julie asked.

  “I told them I had to go to the privy, and as soon as I was in the brush I started running. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. I guess they got tired of looking for me and left.”

  “How long ago was that, Susan?” Frank asked.

  “Several days ago.”

  “You must be starved, honey,” Julie said.

  “I am. I’m so hungry.”

  “Come on. We’ll fix you something to eat and you can tell us everything that happened.”

  “I’d . . . well, I’d rather not talk about everything that happened, Mother. It’s absolutely disgusting.”

  “We understand, Susan,” Frank said. “Come on. I’ll get you a bar of soap and you can take a bath in the creek and get clean. That should make you feel better.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. But I don’t have any clothes.”

  “I’ll find something you can wear,” Julie said. “While you’re bathing, I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  After rummaging around, Frank found a bar of soap and gave it to Julie, then put on water to boil for coffee. He got out a pot and filled it with water for the beans, then sliced up some bacon. Julie, with her twelve-gauge Greener, was keeping watch down by the creek, as she guarded her daughter with an eagle eye. She had found some men’s britches and a shirt for Susan to wear. Frank was glad now that he had taken a spare horse after freeing Julie from the outlaws. He had taken it just in case. It had been a good move.

  Susan and her mother soon joined Frank in the clearing. With a pair of too-big men’s jeans and a baggy shirt, Susan looked like a lost waif. But she was alive and apparently not too badly hurt . . . at least not physically.

  Gnawing on a cold biscuit and drinking a cup of coffee, Susan told her story . . . that is, as much of it as she preferred to tell in mixed company.

  “We were all kept together for the first day,” the girl said. “Then it was just me and Becky when the others were taken. The outlaws”—she sighed and took a sip of coffee—“had their way with Becky and me until they got tired of us. Then I tried to run away, and they caught me and beat me. The next day I tried to run away again, and they caught me and beat me unconscious. Then they did some things to me and made me do some things to them I’d rather not talk about. Anyway, that went on until I got a chance to escape. When I saw my chance, I took it. That’s all I want to say about that right now.”