Hell, he’d been eating his own grub for so long, any food that didn’t crawl off the plate looked good to him.
McCord swung into the saddle. He’d trade mounts at the edge of camp and make a few hours of hard riding before he slept. With luck he’d be back to Anna in two days.
As he always did, his mind focused on his goal and he rode hard with little food or sleep. Only this time he didn’t feel like he was running away from something. This time he was riding toward her.
He was three hours out of Camp Supply when he saw soldiers riding fast. Wynn knew who they were by the way they sat their saddles. Seasoned soldiers, Cunningham and the two other Texans.
The men pulled their mounts up when they reached McCord, but only Sergeant Cunningham stepped down.
McCord slowly swung from the saddle, knowing something was wrong when his friend didn’t smile. “What is it, Dirk?”
Cunningham didn’t waste words. “From the markings, two men, probably part of Thorn’s gang, took Anna and Private Clark at gunpoint two nights ago. We’ve been trailing them since dawn yesterday.”
McCord didn’t move, but inside he felt his entire body take the news like a blow.
“Captain’s had every man out on patrol looking. We got lucky and picked up fresh sign this morning. Spotted a woman’s footprint out back behind the infirmary yesterday as we left. About the time we figured we’d lost them for good, we spotted her print again near a creek bank. From there it was easy to follow the trail of four horses. Every time they stop, your Anna must be stomping around leaving footprints everywhere.” He stared at his friend as he told the whole truth. “Along with fresh blood. They’re heading due south.”
“No body?” McCord said as he checked the cinch on his horse. “Clark’s still alive.”
Cunningham nodded. “That’s my guess.”
“Then we’d better get to them fast. Clark’s not the one they want, so they’ll kill him as soon as possible. I’m surprised he’s lasted two days.”
“I figure the men who kidnapped them don’t do much without orders. So we’ve got till they get to camp, where the boss is.” Cunningham reached for his saddle horn. “Looks like they’re heading toward Red Rock Canyon. Once they’re there, we’ll never find them.”
Both men mounted and rode without another word.
It had been a long time since McCord had felt anything, including hate, but he felt it now. He’d kill every one of the outlaws if even one touched Anna. He might have given up on ever being able to love anyone or anything in this lifetime, but he could still hate.
They rode until almost dark before they spotted movement ahead of them. Then, without a word, Cunningham signaled and the four men spread out, leaving no trail of dust big enough to notice if one of the outlaws glanced back.
McCord took the center, riding in the open, daring them to look back. He rode fast, but not full-out; he had to give the others time to move into place. As he climbed, he closed in on four riders, one in what looked like a blue dress. Anna, he thought. His Anna.
One outlaw led the line, pulling the two captives behind him. The other outlaw rode drag, but he wasn’t on guard like he should have been. Not once did he look back, and from what McCord could see he held no weapon at the ready.
The captive next to Anna slumped in his saddle. It had to be Clark, but he was either asleep or hurt.
When they crossed over a ridge, McCord saw that the outlaws were moving toward two men camped out near a stream in the bottom of a shallow canyon. Both men were waiting, watching the riders approach. If they’d looked beyond the riders, they might have seen McCord in the long shadows, following.
He waited as the day aged and the outlaws slowly wound their way around rocks and streams toward the camp.
In the campfire light McCord swore one of the men had to be the gambler. He even noticed the flicker of gold from the watch chain on the