CHAPTER 32IT WAS LONG after midnight before they got back to Wirt Downer’s camp. Bruce Powell stepped from the saddle, the sap drained out of him. He drank almost a quart of the cook’s scalding coffee and ate slowly, squatted down against the wagon wheel while the crew circled about him, listening as he and Downer talked.
“Must have been Sandson’s men,” Downer said. “Two riders, huh, and headed north?”
Powell nodded. Weariness flowed over him, making the top section of his head a little light as if it lacked the blood to make his brain function properly.
“At least the boy is safe.”
He thought about that slowly and decided that Downer was right. Bobby was probably safe, even now in Jenny’s arms. He pictured Sandson riding in triumphant with Bobby before him on the saddle.
Sandson had w
