“That don't necessarily mean a lot,” Sisson said. “Being surrounded. There's still a lot of territory between the two of them, and if they keep widening out, they're just increasing it. As long as they don't see us, it don't matter where they got us.”

Tom reached for the glasses, but Sisson pulled them back. “They're too close now. Sun's far enough in the sky that we could catch it in the glass and just signal them just where we are. Don't really need them that much, anyway.”

That was true. Now they could actually see the truck. They couldn't really make it out, but it wasn't just a plume of dust anymore. It was a truck, coming their way, no doubt full of men with rifles and ropes and the hopes of being the ones that caught the Power boys.

“If we're going Apache, I would guess this would be the time to start finding hidey holes.”

John pointed northeast about fifteen degrees. “There's a stand of mesquite.”

“Nope,” Tom said. “Too dangerous. I'm not sure we would make it there before we were in sight for them.”

“It's also the first place they would look,” Sisson said. “When you're chasing, you look for the likely cover. No, if we're going Apache, we better do it right. Go to ground. Go into the ground. Get yourself behind a little cover and dig yourself in. Throw dirt on top of you and make yourself small, and then don't move. It'll be a hard thing. And don't look up. Use your ears, not your eyes. Find yourself a little cover. And let's do it now.”

“There's rocks right over yonder,” John said.

“Rocks is no good,” Sisson said. “All the dirt's going to be washed away from them. You won't be able to get yourself tucked in. Just split up, look for yucca or cactus or saltbush. Whatever you find to break the sight. Then start digging. Then throw branches and leaves and stuff over you. And make sure you cover anything shiny, like the breech of that rifle. Nothing gets attention like some metal shining in the sunlight. And don't be a rabbit. Rabbits always give themselves up when they start running. Just stay still. Even if they're coming right at you, you still got a chance. You get up and run, you ain't got no chance.”

They broke in three directions then, each scuttling for separate cover. John dove behind a small creosote bush. Diving into a bush was something he wouldn't have done in any other season, but in winter there wouldn't be many things willing to fight for the protection of the ragged little shrub. Everything was hibernating.