"Don’t look now," Joe said quietly, "but I think we’ve got company."
At the words Do-Little instantly dropped the load of wood, "Who? Where?"
Joe stirred the beans, not looking up. "It might be Indians. I just saw a flicker from something shining yonder on that hill." He jerked his head slightly in the direction. "Maybe a rifle barrel, there in among those big rocks and trees ‘bout half way up."
Do-Little walked around the fire and squatted beside the man talking. From under his hat brim, he slowly turned up his eyes, letting them quickly scan the hillside. "I don’t see anything," he muttered. Then looking again, he said, "Oh, yes I do, there it is. I think you’re right, Joe. That’s somebody with a rifle." His eyes turned cold and hard, reaching up, he rubbed at the scar over his left ear through the flour sack bonnet he wore.
"Now, let’s not do anything silly," Joe said, seeing Do-Little’s reaction.
"We’ll just finish what we’re doing here and keep an eye on ’em for a while. They may not mean us any harm."
Do-Little’s head jerked at Joe’s words, "You want to bet on that?"
Joe shook his head. "If we do have trouble, Do-Little, the best place for us to be is in the buckboard; those boards around it will give us cover from all sides."
Do-Little slowly nodded his understanding.
After the food was cooked, the men ate it and drank coffee. After hitching up the team and dousing the fire, they moved out. The sun shined little from the light blue-gray overcast sky. The north wind blew cold and hard against the white canvas, making it pop and flutter against the boards and leaving the two men deaf to any sounds that might alert them of an attack coming from either direction along the trail.
Do-Little now drove the team and Joe stood half squatting in the back looking out over the sides. The wind blew hard at his face, making his eyes water, badly blurring his vision. With one hand he wiped to clear his eyes, and in the other he held the Winchester cocked and ready.