Old Thad’s eyes narrowed. “What’re you drivin’ at, Condo?”
Billy dipped beans onto his plate, chewing on a piece of sidemeat as he talked. “I’m drivin’ at the fact that we might need help from the United States Cavalry.”
Joe Metcalf eyed him suspiciously. “You mean—Comanches?”
Billy nodded, stepping to the fire and tipping coffee into his cup from the granite pot. “I picked up sign of a lone scout about four miles east of here.”
“Do you reckon-he’d seen us?” Joe Metcalf asked.
“Couldn’t miss a herd this big,” Billy said, gulping coffee.
Everybody fell silent for a while. Finally Old Thad cleared his throat and said uneasily, “Only regular cavalry post I know of around here is Fort Nichols, up on the Santa Fe Trail. That’s nearly a hundred and fifty miles away.”
Billy looked at him.
