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getting up and walking back into the house.
      Zack was just finishing his coffee and thinking about looking for Toby Martin so he could be on his way when Toby came around the corner of the house. “Horse is ready whenever you are, Zack,” he said.
      “Ready now sir….I mean, Toby,” Zack said, putting down his coffee cup and walking down the porch to the side yard where he followed Toby Martin to the stable. “This is Grace,” Toby said, showing Zack to a dark brown horse. “She’s eight years old and one of the best of a good lot. She can run like the wind for miles if you work her up to it first, and mind you rub her down real good after. She’ll take care of you if you take care of her. There’s a bag of oats there on the back of the saddle but there’s plenty of forage for the next fifty miles if they stuck to the main road. So you can save ‘em until you need ‘em.”
      “I don’t know how to thank you,” Zack said, feeling like he should be saying more.
      “You can thank me by coming back, preferably with your ma- and bring Grace back with you.
      “I’ll do my best,” Zack said, stroking the mare’s neck.
      “Then get on your way, no sense in bringing all the women folk to tears. God be with you.”
      Zack saw that Toby had already tied on his bedroll and that his backpack was hanging from the saddle horn. He mounted the mare, gave Toby Martin a nod and rode out of the stable.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    3
     
      Zack had never owned a horse of his own but Santiago’s father was a breeder and Zack rode with Santiago and their friend Michael often. He took the mare overland in the direction of the north/south road, his thoughts a jumble of conflicting emotions; fear and anger fought for the forefront with sadness for the murdered and apprehension for his mother, Emily, and whoever else might have been taken. Santiago and Michael? Possibly; Santiago’s father’s place was just a quarter mile south of town and it was obvious that the gang of riders had come in from that direction.
      In an hour he had made it to the north/south road and turned northward to follow the trail of the riders. They had less than a two day head start and were burdened with wagons. Zack hoped that he could catch up to them at nightfall the following day and either make a move if the opportunity arose or watch their movements for a day and use the time to come up with a plan. He currently wished for a hat; the sun, although it wasn’t even midday yet promised a good burn to his face before evening.
      He stopped just after noon at a small pond used as a watering hole for travelers on the road. There was a clump of scrub oaks next to it which provided the only shade for miles in both directions. Payne’s Station sits right at the base of foothills that rise to the mountains but the road north steadily veers away from them. Grassland dominates the terrain from just outside of town to about sixty miles north where one mountain range meets another and the north/south road continues on through a pass. Auburn and Herald’s Ford were on the other side.
      Zack let Grace drink her fill and graze around the water hole while he made a meal out of some jerked beef and dried fruit that the Martins had provided. He drank sparingly from the canteen as he didn’t want to have to fill it in the pond. It was obvious that the gang had stopped here from all of the torn turf and horse leavings. He knew that there was a stream that comes down from the mountains another ten miles or so up the road. The running water from the high peak snowmelt was cleaner and tasted better. This was all beside the fact that he somehow felt repulsed drinking out of the same hole as those men.
      Zack looked up from his place under the trees and saw that Grace had wandered a good distance away from the pond. Suddenly worried about her running off he called out “Grace!” and gave a short