CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Doc Turner came into town at a steady trot and noted the barricade across the main street. He chuckled and raised his hand in greeting. Someone waved him forward and when he reached the wagons, he negotiated a path along the side. There were several men crouched behind the two upturned wagons, all armed. The largest of them stepped forward and held out his hand. “Welcome, Doc.”
Turner took Hanson’s proffered hand and shook it. “I have a rifle,” he said and, patting the holster at his hip, he added, “and my old Colt Navy. Never thought I’d need to use it again.”
“Doc,” said Hanson, “we need you here to help us man our defenses.”
“There’s a war party heading this way,” said another big man from the steps of Miss Bessy’s guesthouse. Turner vaguely recognized him. “Name’
