Blogtober 2020 Day Seven Entry
The boys put Gunnarson’s revolvers in the satchel with the cash. Phin carried the shotgun while Murphy hauled the satchel. They continued along the road, neither noticing that the setting sun was on their right and not ahead.
All the water they had was what they had put in the Swede’s empty whiskey flask. They took small sips until twilight, when they agreed to save it for morning. They walked for what seemed like forever, and when they found a small grove of trees, they crawled under the branches and slept until daylight.
The morning was already hot when they set out, and their water was gone by midday. They reached the crest of a hill and looked out upon a broad valley below. Neither could see a river or stream, but Murphy pointed toward a small cluster of huts.
“Does that look like smoke?” he asked.
“It looks like something, by God, and that’s better than dying out here,” Phin replied.
The prospect of salvation lightened their spirits and their feet, and they moved toward the village with purpose and hope. Once they reached the valley floor, they could see outlines of dwellings and multiple smoke trails ascending.
The ground began to rumble as a cloud of dust formed on the road. The sound and the cloud grew as it closed the distance.
“They saw us!” Phin shouted, waving his arms. “It’s a rescue party!”
Murphy shaded his eyes, squinting at the approaching riders. “Oh, hell, Phin—it’s Injuns.”
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