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nothing that Tice would kill to take from him, so he was honest in his reply.
    â€œMe, neither,” Swann said, since Tice had not objected, and there was no reason to suspect Carson of attempting any form of retaliation for the killing of the men who were taking him to be hanged.
    Red Shirt took the knife he had just used to scalp Moody and his posse man, and cut Carson’s bonds. “All right, go get your coffee. And while you’re at it, make a new pot and we’ll all have some.”
    â€œFair enough,” Carson said, and proceeded to do just that while the three outlaws searched the bodies for anything of value.

Chapter 4
    Out of the frying pan, into the fire—it appeared that Carson Ryan’s summer was fated to land him in one tight situation after another. He now found himself seated beside the campfire that Orville Swann had built, eating more of the beans and bacon he had cooked. Across from him the two men who had come up after Red Shirt killed Moody and Collins were noisily gulping their dinner while the half-breed was still inspecting the horses recently gained. The conversation was predominantly an interrogation of the man they had freed. Carson patiently answered their questions, telling them where and how he had been taken prisoner, making his answers as short and vague as possible. He knew it was in his best interest to let them think he rode the same trail as they, and not proclaim his innocence of the charges made against him.
    â€œHell, it’s a good thing we run across you,” Tice said. “We could use another man.” This was not what Carson wanted to hear. He had hoped they would leave him a horse and weapons and go their separate ways. “Course, it’ll have to be all right with Red Shirt,” Tice continued. “He’s kinda particular about a lot of things.”
    â€œHa,” Swann grunted. “What Ed means is Red Shirt calls all the shots, but I think he must like you. Hell, if he didn’t, he’da most likely left you tied up to that tree.”
    â€œYeah,” Tice remarked, “and maybe with your throat cut.”
    Their conversation was interrupted when Red Shirt came back to the fire to join them. “Pretty good horses,” he commented as he poured a cup of coffee for himself. “Bring a good price from that ol’ son of a bitch on the Cheyenne,” he said, referring to a trading post on the Cheyenne River. He grinned at Carson then and said, “I bet you got one of them horses picked out for yourself.” When Carson didn’t answer, but only shrugged indifferently, Red Shirt informed him, “You can pick out any of ’em you want except that black one. I’m keepin’ him for myself.” Carson nodded. “Same thing for the guns,” Red Shirt went on. “You get yourself a rifle and a handgun, and some cartridges for ’em, but not that marshal’s rifle. I want that one for myself.” He paused, then remembered. “And that old bastard’s badge is mine. I want it. I’ll pin it on my scalp stick with his hair.”
    â€œI ’preciate it,” Carson said. “They took my rifle and six-shooter back at Fort Laramie.” He regretted the loss of his father’s Henry rifle, but Moody and both of his posse men had been carrying Winchester rifles, so he had hopes of acquiring one of the two left after Red Shirt claimed his. With that in mind, he took note of the weapons carried by his new partners. Red Shirt had carried a Spencer carbine, but both Orville Swann and Ed Tice were armed with Winchesters. So his prospects of getting a Winchester for himself were pretty good. As far as the handgun was concerned, he didn’t care that much. Just about anything would do. If he had a choice, of course, he would take a Colt, but a good rifle was the most important requirement. When it came to horses, he was satisfied to keep the bay gelding he had