“No, they won’t be comin’ here,” Hawk replied, and saw the immediate disappointment in Pierce’s face. He figured that business must really be as dead as he had complained before. “No, they’re already on their way back to Fort Ellis. They’re way outta their usual territory, and the officer commanding the patrol said he’s gotta take ’em back.”

“But you’re still here,” Flo pointed out. “Don’t you have to go back with ’em?”

“No, ma’am,” Hawk replied. “I work for the army, but I ain’t in the army.” Not wanting to get into a discussion about why he was staying, he paid for his coffee and said, “Well, I’d best let you folks close up, so you can get on home.” He picked up his coffee and started for the door.

“It ain’t a long trip,” Flo saw fit to remark, “since we live in the back of the store.”

In the saddle again, Hawk rode down the short street to take a look at the stable in case he decided to put his horses up for the night where they might get some oats. One look at the shabby building made his decision for him. He’d camp on the riverbank—the stable looked as poor as Franklin Pierce claimed the whole town to be. He turned Rascal back up the road to the place where he had spotted Booth’s tracks leaving the trail. When he reached that point, he rode down to the river and made his camp.

He was awakened the next morning by a light rain, thankful that he had decided to fashion a half tent with a piece of canvas he had brought with him for just such occasions. After taking a good look at the clouds rolling in off the mountains the night before, he had decided there was a good chance of rain. So, he awoke only half-wet, thinking he should have paid to sleep in the stable. With no inclination to try to revive his campfire, he rolled up his bedroll inside his piece of canvas and saddled Rascal. He wished at that point that he had brought his packhorse, but he had taken only the rations he thought he might need for the ten-day patrol, just as the soldiers had.