Chapter Three The Northern Waste

After half an hour, Old Bill stopped and lifted his ears. Jack stopped too. There was smoke in the wind. Faint. He led the horse low behind scrub and saw a small caravan stopped at a bend in the riverbed. Three covered wagons formed a half circle. A fire burned low. A man in a gray coat poured water into a coffee pot. Two women sat near a wagon, and a small boy held a wooden rifle while pretending to sleep. Four horses stood beside the caravan. But the saddles were wrong. The saddlebags were packed too neatly. The holsters hung too openly. In the dust near the wheels there were no women's boot tracks, only men's. The two "women" sat too steady, their hands hidden beneath their skirts. Jack narrowed his eyes. A false caravan.