Finally ready, I switched to Arrow’s back and set off at an angle to intercept the wagon. Upon regaining the road, I saw no sign the wagon had passed. I’d been flummoxed again. The sergeant was smarter than I gave him credit for. He’d crossed the Little Sioux within my eyesight and arranged to force me to cross the river by fording it. Once he knew I was across, he’d returned to the north shore again and taken the road east, leaving me hornswoggled on the wrong side of the river. Tracks in the dirt confirmed the wagon had reversed course and returned to the river.
After hobbling the horses, I walked to the river to see the ferryman back on the far shore beneath a scrap of canvas he’d rigged as protection against the sun on the other side of the river. I waited patiently until he lay back
