Jackson was cautious by nature. It was a trait that had served him well in his years as a military scout. Looking from the ridge, he could see tiny specks in the sky miles out over the plains, and then his gaze slowly dropped to the ants crossing the rock a few feet from his chin. From there, his gaze rose again more slowly, to follow the gradual slope of the ridge, which fell away before him, ending in the dusty plains that stretched to the horizon. The sunlight glared off the white of the alkali flats, causing the scout to squint his eyes until they were just small slits in his face. Jackson rolled his stomach slightly from his prone position to reach the field glasses. He took another look over the barren nothingness to get a fix on the specks in the distance. He put the binoculars to his eyes and found the floating specks. He focused the lenses. Sure enough, they were buzzards, which meant some poor creature hadn’t made it across the waterless flats. He had crossed those flats himself just two days before, and he knew how unforgiving they were. Jackson tilted the field glasses down till he found the horizon. As he scanned the glaring plains, he caught a glimpse of something moving – something darker than the monotonous white glare. It was just a pinpoint of motion. He focused the field glasses skillfully. The pinpoint was made up of four moving things: two ponies and two pack mules. The ponies each carried a rider, and the mules were loaded high, which he made out right away. He had watched them for several minutes when the lead rider stopped and dismounted. He could plainly make out a skirt – a woman! He studied the other rider, and she, too, was a woman. Two Apache women riding alone with two pack mules was very unusual. Behind them, the buzzards floated, circling lower to the carcasses they had been feeding on before the riders had interrupted them. After a few more minutes of watching, Jackson could see the women were heading in his direction. That meant there had to be a village nearby
