Bo Meadows had stopped twice to look at his back-trail. He studied the landscape and watched the shadows in the scattered cluster of trees and brush, for long periods of time. Taking in every detail as if a sixth sense was telling him something was different, what it was, he could not guess.

He had dodged the law before, and if there was someone out there..., No, he told himself, it was just misplaced paranoia, Just one of the fortunes of war, that came with the life he was forced to live. A life that was forced upon him by a violent past. At least that was the rational he used to justify his actions.

He reached up and took the leather string that was tied around his neck and pulling it from behind his shirt, his hand grasped the arrow-head that was tied to it. Something he had worn since he was a child. He dug it from the neck of his dead Pa, leaving six others still in his body when he buried him.

Meadows was only ten years old, but he remembered that nightmare, and all the horror that came with it. They were memories that were so deeply imbedded in him that his fear of IIndians, had grown into a deeply rooted hatred. Maybe they were out there, he thought, Maybe they were watching him right now.

Matt Cory rode up alongside of Meadows, "You alright?"

Meadows attention was distracted, "I'm fine, Matt." he said, slipping the arrow-head back behind his shirt. "We'll stop and rest the horses, for a time. We got us several more miles to go, and we could all use a few minutes out of these saddles."



How many men did you take across this river. Say, in the last hour or so.? Badger asked.

Like I told you, this little steam-boat, she don't take on a lot of weight. So I took four men and their horses over the first time, and five men and their horses the second time.

"This is the same spot you dropped them off?" John Barnabus asked.

"Yes sir, pretty close." The boatman said, after spitting a chaw of tobacco onto the bank of the river.

"What do you mean, pretty close?" Patterson asked

"Mister, this is a wild river, and I can't control her any more than I can control my own wife"

He wiped his rough calloused hands on his bib-coveralls that was damp with spray from the rivers current, and pushed aside strands of gray hair covering a round plump face, and a set of very bushy eyebrows. "Where I come from, pretty close means ... pretty close."

Badger smiled, the man had character, and Badger liked him. "Did you hear any conversations about where they might be heading?"

"No, but by the looks of them, my guess would be somewheres around Arlington country."

Badger was about to ask the obvious question when the boatman said, "I don't reckon none of you been through this country recently. Arlington is a small community. Citizens began settling in the area as recently as a couple of years ago, maybe a little longer. Back in 85 as I recall."

At this point he paused, "Are the two of you really Pinkerton men? Never mind, it's just that I ain't never met no Pinkerton man before. Don't mean to question ya."

"What is it about Arlington?" J. B. asked.

"Well, for one thing, the town is still new enough that it ain't even on some of the maps, and it's the closest place to get supplies if you're a-lookin' to move on."

"I have one more question." Badger said..

"What is it?"

"Did you happen to see a man with a scar riding with them?"

"Yes sir. He was with them alright."

"You're sure?"

"Mister, he's the one who paid me to bring them across the river. He tried to cover that scar with a necker-chief, but I saw it alright. An ugly scar, took off some of his earlobe."

"Thank you" Badger said. "Can you point us in the direction they were heading, last you saw them?" Badger asked

The boatman brought his hand up and he pointed to a draw that headed deeper into the hills along the river. He told them what he knew about the land and how to get to Arlington. Then he looked at John Barnabus.

"Mister, a man don't get a scar like that for being a model citizen. I would prefer when you see him, you don't say nuthin" about our conversation."

"We won't." J. B. said, then he reached into his pocket and handed him four-bits, and when the boatman looked at him questionably, John took another two-bits from his pocket. The boatman smiled, "Thank you kindly, mister."

When John turned his horse away from the river, he saw Paterson was waiting for him, and Badger, well, he was already headed for the draw. John was no longer sure if the old mountain man was an asset.

He understood that Badger knew his way across this land, and John needed him for that reason, but, at this point, it would be anybody's guess, how this journey was going to end.

They followed the trail towards Arlington for a while, when Badger noticed something was half buried in the dry dirt, several feet from the trail they were on.

Tracks headed up a coulee where a stream of cold water could be heard on its way to the Columbia River. Turning Sallie-May in that direction, Badger soon discovered that his attention had been drawn to a prison uniform.

"Looks like Cory has shed himself of his prison clothes." Badger said, looking at John Barnabus.

J. B. sat tall in his saddle, stretching the muscles along his spine. "Looks that way, Badger." Paterson studied the terrain for any sign, "Looks like they may have cut from this main trail and headed up that coulee to the top of the ridge."

"That would be my guess." Badger said, after he got back into the saddle. "The only way he could-a shed his prison clothes is if he had regulars on underneath em. Joseph Paterson took his hat from his head and was wiping his brow when he heard Badger.

" That coulee is going to be our best bet."



Meadows stood silently watching the trail they had just ridden when Caleb Hoag brought him a cup of coffee. Hoag turned and looked in the same direction as Meadows.

"Boss, we been ridin' together for some time now, and I ain't seen you look so spooked."

"Caleb, my gut keeps telling me that somethin' just ain't right, and I can't figure it out."

"If you're thinkin' about that Pinkerton man that's supposed to be trailing you? Well, if you are, I can tell you, my guess is that he's probably one of the men who was ridin' with that sheriff on the train, and from the conversations I heard while I was on that train, my guess would be his name is Casper Hayes."

Caleb paused for a moment to sip his coffee, then he said, "I can't figure one man would risk ridin' against all of us. He probably rode back on the train to get more men."

"You're probably right Caleb. You said there were two men riding with the sheriff?"

"Yea, but that other one, he was too old to be a Pinkerton man."

"Too old?"

"Yea, I'm sure of that. He was probably just an old friend. Come along to help out where he could. He sure had the respect of the other men though. I haven't figured that out yet."

Caleb paused again to drink the last of his coffee. "... and besides being old, what Pinkerton man would go by the name of Badger."

Bo Meadows felt a chill run along his spine, as he recalled that day, long ago. Turning, he looked at Hoag.

"What did you say his name was?"

"Everyone called him Badger."

Meadows thoughts flashed quickly through the events of several years past, when he and the men he was riding with raided a small Indian camp. Killing those they could find, and burning their tee-pees.

Then a question came to his mind, that Indian woman, who was she? He had never been afraid of any living man, but how do you fight the words of a dead woman. A woman he had killed with so little regard. Her last words came back to haunt him.

Badger will find you.

"Caleb, tell Matt Cory, Jackson, and Ned, to get their horses. I need to talk to them now." Caleb Hoag had never seen Meadows this way before. "Sure boss, I'll send them to you rightly." As Caleb was walking away Meadows called out, "And put that damn fire out..., Now!"

When Matt Cory and the other two outlaws approached, Meadows tossed Cory a rifle, then he looked at Jackson, "Do you know your way to the hide-out?"

Jackson, somewhat surprised, said, "Yes sir, boss. I know my way."

"Good." Meadows replied, Then he glanced at Cory. "Matt, I want you and these men to ride our back-trail. Find out if anyone is following us. If you don't find anyone after a couple of miles or so, Jackson here, will take you to the hide-out."

Matt Cory was curious, "And if we do find someone?" Without any hesitation, Meadows said, "Kill them."

Not wanting to risk testing Meadows emotions, there was a silent pause in their conversation before Cory said, "Sure Bo, we'll take care of it." They were turning their horses when Meadows stopped them.

"Matt! This is your chance to show me, the effort I put into breaking you out of prison was worth it." His expression changed and Matt Cory suddenly felt uneasy when he heard Meadows say, "Don't let me down."


When they stopped to let their horses drink from the cold stream that ran through the coulee Badger smiled as he took in the sights and sounds that surrounded him. Two squirrels chased each other up a nearby tree. He heard some frogs along the stream bed, and he could smell the freshness of the green foliage that grew all around him..

When he had washed his face and Sallie-May had drank her fill of the cool water, Badger took her reins and walked her to a nearby cluster of trees, then he found a comfortable place to sit on his heals and lean up against one of the trees to wait for J. B. and Paterson. Near-by two butterflies danced around a cluster of flowers.

Badger smiled, he hadn't felt this way for a long time. His eyes caught sight of a bald eagle perched high in the trees and Badger took a deep breath. Glancing up at Sallie-May he whispered to her, "This sure feels like home."

As he turned his attention back to the running stream, everything changed, natures alarm system was going off, and everything was quiet. Badger's senses sharpened as he listened. In nature, this normally meant a predator was near-by.

This wasn't the right country for bear, could it be a pack of wolfs, or maybe a cougar. Badger stood and took the rifle from the boot along Sallie-May's saddle, then he found some shadows created by tall brush and squatted on his heals again, watching for any sign of danger.

J. B. and Paterson were still at the bank of the stream. Then the explosive bark of a rifle was heard, and Paterson fell to the ground, next to where his horse was standing.