William Ackland nodded and straightened. "We will be ready. Every man has a rifle."
Travis wished every man had three, but he only added, "If I come back riding hell-bent for leather, have the guns ready to fire. If it's a raiding party, as soon as they know we're aware of them, they'll attack."
Grabbing his horse, Travis glanced around the circle. Women and children, he thought. Too many women and children. If raiders were coming, the men would be dead before they could reload, and the women and children would think they were in hell. He had to make sure that didn't happen.
He glanced back at Ackland. "Tell everyone to stay put until I return. Even if you hear gunfire, don't go outside the circle."
The German nodded.
Travis jumped over a wagon tongue and rode north. He didn't need to check his weapons, he knew they were ready. His life had depended on it many times.
Just out of sight of the wagons, he turned west. If whoever put out the fire was heading toward the settlers, he didn't plan to be in their path before he got a chance to size them up. He climbed on higher ground and eased his horse silently through tall grass.
The morning was still cool, calm, but he smelled their camp before he saw it. He slipped from his horse and moved closer, invisible in the grass.
Travis swore as he recognized their kind. A raiding party made up of outlaws-men too mean to live in any civilized world. He also saw two Indians, probably acting as scouts, and a child, tied to a rope like a dog. The kid was on the far side of the camp, and Travis couldn't tell if the child was a boy or girl, only that the youth was so thin he, or she, seemed almost birdlike. The child's movements were slow and stiff as if bones had been broken once and hadn't healed right. Shivering into his coat, Travis noticed the child was almost nude.
Travis had heard reports of a bad gang raiding near the mouth of the Colorado River. It was said they'd steal anything they could use in trade and kill anyone who got in their way. They must have drifted north.
The men moving about the campsite didn't seem in any hurry. They were saddling up, but leaving their gear behind. Preparing to ride hard and fast. Most had double weapons strapped both to their bodies and their mounts. None looked nervous or excited. They apparently saw the Germans as easy pickings. They planned to kill the men and take everything, wagons and all. The women and children would probably be tied up in one of the wagons and sold somewhere in Mexico within a few weeks. Or traded to tribes farther north, where the captives would later be bartered for supplies at one of the forts. By the time the women and children were traded off, they'd be near dead from starvation.
Travis knew he was looking at the rock bottom of humanity. Men who would do anything for money. Men who put no value on life.
They began to saddle up and he should have moved away, but one of the Indians caught his attention. Apache. He didn't usually see them this far south. Though his mind knew evil could have any skin color, his heart didn't like the idea that someone from his mother's tribe could be one of the raiders.
Travis focused. The Apache wasn't young, maybe forty. He favored his left side as he walked and a deep scar crossed his forehead. Travis couldn't help but wonder what had happened in his life that had made him leave his people and band with the outlaws.
He watched closer. The Apache's face was hard, his brown eyes cold, dead inside.
His eyes!
Travis felt the realization like a physical slap. If he were staring at the Apache's eyes, the Apache had spotted him.
Travis didn't bother to crawl away. He stood and ran.
A shot rang out as he reached his horse, another followed. A fiery bullet sliced into his leg like a knife made of lava.
He kicked the horse into full speed and shot out of range. Within seconds he heard the thunder of horses behind him. It crossed his mind to lead the outlaws away from the wagons, but he knew they'd just double back and attack. If they got there before he could, he wouldn't be able to help the Germans fight. There was a good chance some of the men weren't fully armed, for he'd noticed several cleaning guns a moment before he ran. The Germans would have a better chance if he forced the battle now.
Travis hit the circle of wagons at full speed. His horse thundered inside as the Germans pulled the opening closed. They'd spent the hour he'd been gone building a blockade with trunks and boxes. Before he could rein in his horse, the children disappeared into wagons and the men raised their weapons. There was no problem with language; they all seemed to understand the danger.
Pulling his rifle, Travis slid from his horse, surprised when his left leg wouldn't hold his weight. Hopping, he made it to the barrels of water stacked almost shoulder high. A cloud of dust rode directly toward him.
Lifting his weapon, he waited for the outlaws to come into range. With his rifles he could take down two. There would be no time to reload. He'd have to pull his Colts.
He counted twelve men riding toward them, guns ready. The Apache weren't just scouts; they were part of the gang. Travis held his weapon steady. For the first time in his life he'd be firing at his mother's people.
If he were lucky, he'd get four before the band hit the wagons. Then it would be hand-to-hand fighting. The Germans weren't fighters. They'd waste most of their shots, firing too early, taking too much time to aim. He glanced around. In truth none of them looked like they'd stand a chance against a seasoned fighter. Most would be cut down without ever striking a blow.
If he could get four, maybe five before they broke the blockade, he'd fight the rest, he hoped one at a time. He touched his throbbing leg. Pain volted through him in lightning strikes the width of a heartbeat apart. Warm blood filled his hand and he swore.
Travis straightened in resolution. He'd kill as many as he could before he lost too much blood to fight.
Then, almost like a dream, he saw two men running from among the horses. Both were tall, powerful and fully armed. His brothers.
They moved in and set up on either side of him, placing rifles and pistols within easy reach. His younger brother pulled out powder and bullets, lining everything up to reload fast.
There was no time for questions. Travis smiled and raised his weapon. The odds had just gotten a great deal better.
Their first volley took down three outlaws. Teagen passed Travis another rifle and they aimed in unison. The second round of fire took down another man.
"You missed, little brother." Teagen smiled as he tossed his rifle to Tobin for reloading.
Travis grinned. "More likely the fellow has two bullets in him." He raised his last loaded rifle and fired again. Another outlaw tumbled from his horse. Those left circled, unsure what to do.
The McMurray brothers moved back while German men took their place. Travis leaned heavily on Teagen. "If they break through," Travis said between clenched teeth, "take my Colt and knife. I've lost too much blood to be of any help in the fight."
Teagen was already tying a bandanna around Travis's blood-soaked leg. "They won't break through!" he yelled above the gunfire. "The farmers will see to it."
Travis tried to focus. His brother was right. The Germans were holding the outlaws off. They kept up constant firing with three shifts. "You…" He couldn't get the words past the pain.
His brothers spread out a bedroll and lay him down. While Tobin cut away the leg of his pants, Teagen said calmly, "We got here right after you left. I decided to help these folks turn their wagons into a fort, then we talked about how to fire against intruders." He shrugged. "I figured you'd bring back more than a dozen."