Gunshots. Not what I wanted to hear. Fighting a desperate urge to go find out what was happening, I retrieved my Henry from its saddle scabbard and lay back where I had been. The gunfire faded away but the sound of approaching horses grew louder. A patrol of four mounted troopers materialized on the outcrop directly in front of me. Then I heard other ponies racing on the canyon floor. The troopers heard them, too. They pulled up at the very lip of the bluff and drew carbines in unison.
Movement below. Two horses at a dead run. Ethan, accompanied by Winter Bird most likely. Bird had probably come along to bring the horse my mate was riding back to Rivers Bend. Was the army counting mounts in the horse herds now?
In moments, the riders would be visible to the four troopers on high ground.
