He waited until the sounds of even breathing indicated that the men were asleep. He raised up slowly, intending to make his way to the picket line. He would retrieve his and Billy’s horses, then come back for Billy.

Jake spoke roughly, “Better do it in your britches, boy. Out in the dark, somebody’s apt to blow a hole in you.”

Alarmed, then frustrated, Andy muttered, “Wasn’t goin’ nowhere.”

Billy stirred just enough to turn over on the blanket. Andy lay back down beside him, his stomach knotting with worry. His eyes remained open. He tried to think of a way that might allow him to get Billy out of this camp. If they could just reach their horses, they would not have to worry about saddling up. Neither had a saddle. They had been traveling bare-back.

He thought about the explosion of the empty bottle. In the dim light of the smoldering campfire he could see the traders’ packs of goods. He wondered what would happen to full whiskey bottles or jugs if they fell into the coals. He had had no experience with liquor. It might burn. On the other hand, like water it might simply put the fire out.

If it did burn, it should cause enough excitement to create a momentary diversion. After all, some people called it fire water.

He crawled to the edge of the blanket to see if he would be challenged as before. He was not. Jake seemed to have gone to sleep. Andy crawled a few inches more and paused, expecting someone to stop him. No one did.

He wriggled up against one of the packs that the men had opened earlier and from which they had imbibed freely. He could barely see, but his probing hands found several jugs. They seemed to be of clay. He got his arms around three of them and carefully crawled back, setting them on the ground within reach of the fire. He returned for more. Before carrying three additional jugs away he uncorked those that remained. The whiskey softly gurgled out onto the canvas.

He waited, listening for an indication that he had disturbed anyone. Then he placed the jugs in the fire and crawied back to the blanket. He pulled the edge of it up and over himself and Billy as a shield against flying pieces of clay in event the jugs reacted as the bottle had.

A cork blew free with a sound like a small-caliber gunshot. Enough whiskey spouted out behind it to ignite a large bluish flame. The jug exploded with a loud pop, the flames blazing high. One by one the other jugs began to blow.

The camp came awake as if a thunderbolt had struck. Confused men shouted and cursed, trying to scramble away from flames that lighted up the night. Coals and firebrands flew in all directions. One landed on the canvas where Andy had spilled several jugs of whiskey. A second blaze flared up, almost as large as the first.