Free Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds by Joe Nobody Page A

floor.
    He estimated the walls were about six miles apart at their current location. The river seemed to prefer the southern rim through this stretch, often hugging the steep cliffs so tightly that his team had to backtrack in order to find a good crossing and continue upstream. No one was in the mood for a swim.
    So far, they hadn’t found a single clue or indication that humans occupied the massive stone and sand formations. Not a footprint, whiff of campfire smoke, or telltale dark green of growing cannabis. For the hundredth time, Bishop wondered if the good sheriff had his facts straight.
    Watts was a competent man tasked with an impossible job. Being a lawman before the collapse was tough enough. Trying to establish law and order after an apocalypse could make even the strongest character shiver. No , Bishop thought, those guys are in this canyon somewhere . How on earth we find them is another matter. But they’re here.
    About the only advantages Bishop had were knowledge and experience. He knew most sentries and lookouts would be posted on the high ground. It only made sense to allow the guards the longest possible viewing angles and thus give the maximum amount of warning.
    It would have been impossible to visually search every nook and cranny of the canyon’s walls and formations. There were so many places where a man could hide and shoot… and kill the unsuspecting intruder. So he narrowed each sweep to the higher elevations. Places where he’d post an accurate shooter with a big optic.
    There was nothing.
    For four days, they’d been repeating the same process, working their way along the river at an extremely slow pace, stalking, and keeping to cover. All of Grim’s bravado aside, Bishop understood why law enforcement had given up searching for the banditos. It was like trying to prospect for gold in Indian country; you could never stop watching for hostiles long enough to properly hunt for the treasure.
    In a way, the people they sought were a more difficult problem than any war parties faced by a 49’ner. The dope growers didn’t want to be found, and that added a level of complexity.
    People involved in illegal acts, like harvesting an outlaw cash crop, probably developed certain skills. They’d been hiding from the authorities for years. Just because society had gone to hell around them didn’t mean they’d get careless or abandon what worked.
    Palo Dura was gorgeous, a wonderful place to camp with the family, hike, maybe even do a little climbing. It was hell on earth to search for a relatively small group of men. The perfect place to grow weed if you didn’t want to be found.
    The insect chose that moment to bite Bishop behind the ear, the sharp pain drawing an unthinking slap from the frustrated Texan.
    The swift movement and noise drew a harsh look from Grim, but even the grizzled old contractor was too tired to comment. For a moment, neither of them moved, both waiting for the sniper’s bullet to slam into their flesh.
    No lead arrived.
    Bishop waved his man back, the two retreating down into a shallow ravine that afforded some cover.
    “That’s it,” Bishop spat. “I’m so tired, I’m making stupid mistakes. I’m going to get us all killed. We’re done with this.”
    “What about the sheriff and his crooks?”
    “There’s got to be a better way,” Bishop declared. “We could have a thousand men on horseback and still never find these guys. We’re out here risking our asses for a hopeless cause. I’ve got better things to do with my life.”
    Grim shook his head, “Now what can possibly be better than humping a 60-pound pack up and down these rocks in 90-degree heat, brother? This is the high life. That last rabbit we snared was excellent fare, and the filtered river water is like wine.”
    Bishop grunted but didn’t reply. He just didn’t have the juice.
    Grim noted his boss’s lack of comeback and got serious, “I can’t say I disagree with throwing in the towel.