“Yeah. You ever heard of a gunfighter named Porter?”
“No. I think he’s probably more thief and outlaw than gunslick. But I did see Don Bradley back there.”
“So did I. And I have to wonder about that. He’s too good with a gun to be mixed up with a small-timer like Porter. Last I heard, Don was getting top dollar for his skills. Who else did you see? I didn’t have much time for eyeballing.”
“Bob Doyle is the only other one that I knew. I saw three or four young punks with fancy rigs. I guess they’re out to make a reputation.”
“What they’ll probably get is an unmarked grave. Let’s play a hunch, Sam. Let’s make a guess that Wellman and the girl deliberately took the west fork of Walker Creek to throw off Porter and his men. You with me?”
“Yes. Then they headed straight south. You know this country, Matt; I don’t. Where are they going?”
“I don’t know,” Bodine admitted. “Green River is a long way from here. They were heading straight south all the way until they took the west fork. Two people, a man and a woman—maybe just a girl—heading straight into Apache country. Why, Sam?”
“And carrying gold. A lot of gold, I would guess.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know the why of it. But there’s one way to find out.”
“Catch up with them and ask.”
“That’s it.”
“You game?”
“That goes without asking.”
The two young men turned their horses and headed south. They pointed their horses’ noses toward one of the most dangerous places left on the American continent: the great rugged mountains and the inhospitable deserts and the fierce warriors who inhabited that land. It was called Apache country.
Blood Bond Page 26