Indians. Benjamin’s jaw tightened reflexively, he had dealt with enough of their wily tactics and heartless raids to feel little hope for the boy’s family. If they were lucky, they were all dead and God help the women folk. He touched the butt of his pistol, ready for the order to mount up and hunt the renegades. Even with the Union 2nd Cavalry based in town, he would not trust them to be able to competently track the savages. As he moved to put his hat on, Bill ordered him to stay with the nurse and the boy. 

His eyes flickered with protest at being left behind but he replied, “Yes, sir, Mr. Cothran. They’ll be fine.” 

Grinding his teeth as he watched the men gather in the dusty street, checking weapons and mounting their horses before they prepared to head out to the scene of the ambush. By all rights he should be with them, he had hunted Indians before. Apache, Comanche, even Kiowa once. A frown formed under his scruffy beard, maybe Bill trusted him to find a few cows but warfare was another story. The older man likely thought him a liability with his crippled leg. He turned away, hobbling a few steps over to the table where the sunburned, exhausted boy lay and he looked him over. The kid had guts and if he lived he would need every ounce of them to survive without his family. 

The well dressed young woman and her companion would do as they would and he paid them no mind. Rubbing a hand along the thick chestnut hair hanging shaggy and unkempt from being under his hat, he finally turned to Miss Coleman and cleared his throat, “What would you have me do, ma’am?”