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he grinned. "Got him, did you?" He walked over to Healy, lifted a broad hand,
and struck him across the face. "I think I'll kill you now, before we have
more trouble." "Boss?" Boyle said. "Well, what is it?" "If we have to move
these wagons, we can use him. Might's well get some work out of him first."
Barker hesitated, then shrugged. "All right. But for now, tie his hands and
keep him with you. I want to go through that wagon." Janice eased the door
shut. She turned back to her bed. Her spirits had never been lower, and Maggie
felt the same, obviously. They had done nothing. There had been nothing to
do. "What'll we do?" Dodie whispered. And the whisper was like a plaintive
cry in the lost emptiness of night. KING MARRY reached the Hole-in-the-Wall
hours before the wagons arrived and followed a stream that he took to be the
Middle Fork of the Powder, hunting a place to hole up for the night. When he
had ridden more than a mile he turned off into a ravine and found a place
where the clay shoulder broke the wind. There he dug a shelter out of a
snowbank. The night was cold, but he was asleep before he was fairly settled
in place. , At daybreak he thrust an arm from under the robe long enough to
toss a couple of sticks on the coals. When they blazed up, he added more. Not
until the fire was blazing cheerfully did he come out from under and pull on
his heavy socks and moccasins. When the coffee water was on, he mounted the
bank to look around. The snow was unbroken as far as he could see except by
the towering wall of red sandstone,. and that was streaked with white where
snow lay along the ledges and breaks. He ate jerked beef and drank coffee,
then saddled up and cut across the flatland toward the gap. Nothing had come
through. Had they gone up the valley of the Powder? The sky was gray and
lowering. It looked and felt like snow. He turned back toward the Hole,
keeping to low ground and riding with caution. Yet he was almost at the
opening itself before he heard the sound of an ax, It was unmistakable. He
listened, trying to place the sound exactly while the big horse stamped
restlessly, eager to be moving. He started again, riding directly toward the
Wall. There was little cover, but the stream had cut deep here and there, and
the banks provided some concealment. There were some willows and here and
there a cottonwood. After a few minutes he saw the smoke. The darker gray of
the morning clouds had disguised it well. When he was approximately four
hundred yards away he drew up and left his horse in a space between the
willows and a clay bank. The sound of the ax continued. It was late. If they
were cutting wood, it meant they did not plan to move that day. Yet Barker
must know what the sky implied. He would know it meant snow, and farther west
the timber was fairly heavy along the streams, offering plenty of fuel. Here
there were only willows and what driftwood they could find along the
stream. Carrying his rifle, he went downstream, covering the ground in long,
easy strides. Pausing once, he cleared the rifle's mechanism to be sure that
dampness had not frozen it tight. When he worked his way to the top of the
bank again he could see the vans. The stove in one of the wagons was going,
and there was a fire beyond it. As he watched, Healy came out of the willow
carrying an armful of wood. Wycoff, one arm in a sling and his rifle in the
other hand, walked a little to his left. Healy dumped the wood and started
back toward the willows. Edging around for a better view, Mabry saw Barker.
But Art Boyle was nowhere in sight. The small camp was concealed partly by
the V of the two vans, forming a wall against the wind. A clay bank was to the
west, and a hedge of willows protected the other two sides. Barker was sitting
on a log drinking coffee. None of the women was in sight, and there was no
sign of Doc Guilford. Obviously, Barker had made his move. Wycoff's in- jured
arm could be a result. What Barker now intended was not apparent, except that
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he planned to spend the night, yet in this weather that could easily mean
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