When they were done, each horse had two pieces of blanket wrapped on each hoof, securely tied on by lengths of blanket. Instead of clear prints, the horses left soft, nearly formless depressions in the riverbed. “We should go this way a couple more miles. Let some of them get out of the riverbed here, keep the rest confused. Most will stay in the bed. So we'll need to get away from it in a bit.”

It was past midnight when they came to the Johnson mine. They had been out of the river sand for over an hour. There was no light, no evidence of life at the mine, but somewhere, there was someone. At least a watchman would be on duty, though likely asleep. They stopped, watered the horses, which were still hoof-wrapped, and filled their canteens. While Sisson and John watered the horses, Tom crept up the trail toward the mine, looking for things they could use. He found only a shovel and, over the block of a gasoline engine that powered a generator, a canvas tarp, ten feet square. He cut the ropes that secured it, folded it, and put it on his back, securing it with his belt so his hands were left free. He stopped when he heard footsteps to the front and right. He crouched behind a creosote bush and waited, not moving. When he heard nothing else, he scuttled back to the horses.

They had nearly six hours of darkness left to them, so they abandoned their plan to rest in the hills above the mine, made their way back to the river, and kept moving nearly due south. They came back into the river nearly a mile from where they had left it, creating a gap in prints that would confuse anyone tracking them.

When they had gone several more miles, they spotted the train trestle over the San Pedro. They were now just twenty miles from the Little Dragoon Mountains, but that was too much distance to cover before daylight.

“What do you think?” Tom asked Sisson. “Where do we stop for the day?”

“There's no high ground between here and the Little Dragoons, only hills and ridges.”

“Can we stay here? We're pretty tucked away under here.”

Sisson shook his head. “I think this place is too good. Thems'll come looking here. Hardest thing about tracking Apaches was that they were always able to figure out what we knew about them and then do something else. I'd recommend the same. The last place I would look for three men on the run is out there in the middle of the flat. It's my mind to get out there and hunker down while they search out the good hiding places. We can get behind a little ridge or something and just stay low.”

“That's a gamble.”

“What ain't? It's all a gamble now.”

“All right then.”