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killed some people south of here a few days ago.”
    “Aye. And the Army, in all their wisdom, went out and found themselves three Indians to kill in retaliation.”
    “I heard that, too.”
    “The trouble is,” Innes said with disgust, “the Army didna notice, or more rightly, didna care, that the Indians they killed were Arapaho, not Cheyenne.”
    “Which means what? That the Arapaho will want revenge?”
    Innes scratched his beard. “If it was anybody else but the Arapaho, I’d say aye. But the ones who winter in this area have made a deliberate attempt to stay clear of whites. They want peace. Still, they have their young hotheads, just like all people do. Which is why you need me, lad. These are people who know me. I lived with them for many years.”
    “We could wait,” Carson said reluctantly. “Not that I don’t want you to ride with us. I do. But if waiting a few days would be safer…I have to think of the girls.”
    “Aye, and right bonny lassies they be, too. But unless you’ve got a mind to lock them in their hotel room for the next day our two, you’d be better off heading out. The Cheyenne are long gone from the area. Like to hit and run, they do. Our People won’t cause any trouble.”
    “Our People?”
    “The Arapaho. That’s what they call themselves in their own language. Inuna-ina. Our People.”
    Carson filed that bit of information away, and frowned. “Why would I need to keep the girls in their room if we stay?”
    “’Tis Saturday, lad. Come this evening, ever farmer and rancher within thirty miles will be coming to town to let off steam. So will a goodly number of soldiers from Fort Reynolds just east of here. There’ll be whoopin’ and hollerin’ and fightin’ in the streets from sundown tonight until sundown tomorrow. It gets fair wild here of a Saturday night. No’ a fit place for yon wee lassies at all.”
    Carson gnawed on the inside of his jaw as he weighed staying in Pueblo for a few more days versus leaving right away. According to his father, no one knew the Indians in the area better than did Innes MacDougall. If Innes thought it was better to leave now, then that’s what they would do.
    “All right.” He gave a sharp nod. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”
    Innes grinned. “If you started hitching up your new team right this minute, I’d be ready afore ye.”
    By noon that same day they were out of Pueblo and headed south along the Santa Fe Trail. When they neared Colorado City—a rather grandiose name for such the small town twenty-five miles south of Pueblo—they would take the Taos cutoff, which would angle them southwest toward the ranch.
    The wagon was loaded with basic supplies: flour, sugar, coffee, bacon, beans, corn, oats, two ground sheets, three blankets, a skillet, coffeepot, tin plates, and eating utensils. Carson’s, Megan’s, and Bess’s luggage rode easily in with all the rest.
    They could have waited and bought most of the supplies from Hernandez in Badito down near the ranch, but prices were better in Pueblo, and he’d needed the wagon and team in any case.
    The girls rode on the seat with Carson, while the Scotsman trailed along beside them on his big sorrel gelding. It took a big horse to easily carry a man the size of Innes MacDougall. His pack mule followed along untethered.
    When they had started out, Carson had suggested Innes tie the mule to the back of the wagon.
    “No need,” he’d responded with a booming laugh. “Hail Mary would follow this horse off the edge of the earth, she would, and that’s a fact.”
    “Hail Mary?” Carson’s lips had twitched. “Sounds Catholic. I thought all you Scotsmen were dyed-in-the-wool Protestants.”
    “Oh, Aye. Presbyterian and proud of it. Got Hail Mary off an old papist up in the gold digs. Seein’ as how she took a great affection for me gelding, I decided to leave her name alone.”
    Carson had laughed. “Should I ask the horse’s name?”
    White teeth gleamed through