CHAPTER 22IT WAS after dark before Bruce Powell started south. As he rode down Kansas Avenue with Sandson at his side and the gunmen strung out behind, he knew that the townspeople breathed a sigh of relief. They feared these quiet riders as much as they feared Layton’s farmers and they would not breathe easily until all sound of their passage died in the distance.
The major pulled ahead with Cappy on his right. He had tried to discourage the fat man from coming, but without success. “You’re a printer,” he said, “not a fighting man. You’ll be more trouble than you’re worth. After two days you’ll be so saddle-galled that I’ll have to boost you onto your horse.”
Cappy had merely grunted. “You can’t go alone,” he pointed out. “If Henry was riding with you I wouldn’t worry, but alone you are
