The bandit, Garcia, rode the high ground. He stayed just inside a tree line of pines. The pace was slow, but he could see for a reasonable distance without being seen. It was nearly noon now, and he had not slept for two days. He had changed horses twice, picking fresh mounts from the vast herds that were allowed to run free. Stopping, he reached back to a saddlebag and removed a small brass telescope. Extending it, he stood in his stirrups. Placing it to his right eye, he checked his back-trail. That damned Mountain Man and the two that rode with him had nearly caught him earlier. In the past, Garcia had escaped capture when he was chased by federales and Apaches, but that leather clad son-of-a-b***h Crow just would not give up.
Behind him, Garcia saw only rolling hills of grass. His pur
