Storyteller / Shared NPC
The white scout wanted to know which way the soldier boys headed out. Fair enough question and the hunters had no incentive to lie for the pair so their spokesman pointed east.
"Went that way, just on the other side of that there ridge is a long meandering creek. Probably wanted ta water their horses. If they keep going east there's a fair size piece of woods that way too."
"Tell them 'bout the Injuns," one of the other men interrupted.
"Oh yeah, clear forgot. But yesterday we saw us a party of Injuns riding about. Didn't look in no hurry or nothin', even had a few sqaws and brats with 'em. But they ain't reservation Injuns, that much is for sure. And by now all the redmen know full well about Custer n' his boys being wiped out. So they might just be spoilin' fer a fight," the man notified the scouts.
Captain Barlow now brought the detachment within speaking distance.
"Mr. MacIntosh, Ke Ni Tay, found out anything useful about our fugitives?" he got right to the point.
Only then did he nod acknowledgement to the hunters, "Gentlemen." 
"Headed east, Cap'n, we're headed out after 'em, boys here said they saw some Injuns, sqaws an' chil'dern with 'em, so be mindful." Ke Ni Tay was already on the move heading due east as MacIntosh spoke to the cavalry officer.
"Maybe they can fill you in a bit better, We'll send up a holler if we're in trouble." With that MacIntosh swung his mount and thundered after his Apache partner. The ridge before them could conceal an ambush, or perhaps the deserters made it to the other side, watered their animals, and headed for the stand of trees the mountain men had mentioned.
First things first, both men slowed the horses to a walk as they focused on the ridge ahead. The tracks were plain and the route the men took up the ridge avoided the shale outcroppings, so it would appear they were dealing with the easiest way up and not the possible pursuit. Following the trail upward, the Apache slipped off his pony and slipped up to the crest.
Cantrell let his horse keep pace with Barlow as they approached the group of hunters. He watched as the scouts moved on ahead, obviously following a trail. Once they had pulled away he turned his attention back to the hunters. Cantrell recognized the men. He had come across them a few times either personally or from word passed to him by ranch hands. they had been on and off Lost Lake land several times recently but as long as they weren't killing animals wholesale, the rule around the ranch was animals for food was not worth being tyrants. Had they killed any Lost Lake stock, however, the goodwill would evaporate like a puddle in summertime.
Still, Cantrell felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up but he couldn't really say why. Casually, he reached and tugged the Mare's Leg from its back scabbard and let it rest on his lap, his thumb casually pulled back the hammer to half cock as he held the reins with his left hand. Cantrell made a show of looking around like he was watching the nearby woods for the deserters but mostly he was watching the group of hunters. These men had always been a little too friendly in a greasy sort of way. There was no telling what the deserters might have talked with them about or maybe even convinced them to do.
His scouts moved on to work on picking up the deserters' trail once again.At least these hunters had informed them that the fugitives knew they were being chased, useful. Now the issue was what would they do about it? If they were bold enough (more like desperate enough) the pair might even attempt an ambush. But two against this many? Those were heavy odds.
No he strongly believed they'd keep running.
The conversation with the hunters was short then, they really had nothing else to say that was useful. It was time to get going, they did want to stay with decent range of the scouts just in case trouble arose. Plus they now possibly had Indians to deal with. He definitely did not want to provoke them especially as he did not know if they were hostiles. Realistically they probably were though thought the cynic in him.
He bid them a goodbye and one of the hunters even wished them good luck.
"Alright gentlemen, forward," he waved the detachment onward in the direction where the scouts had headed.
****
For MacIntosh and Ke Ni Tay another hour passed and suddenly the trail went cold. Those tracks they were following went straight into a creek and did not emerge on the other side of the bank, least that they could see. The creek went basically east - west, the fugitives could pick either. Also it was getting darker, soon even the long summer day would give way to night.
Ke-Na-Tay rode east, MacIntosh rode west in the creek, true the sign would be more difficult to pick up in the creek bed, but it was possible, and short of an ambush, a trail would be found, and where the two men and three horses left the stream it would then be clear to whichever scout found it.
But the day was waning and that meant making camp since there was no trail to follow at present, and there was no sense in trying to track in the dark, so both riders turned and rode back and waited on Captain Barlow and the detachment to arrive.
The trail went cold so the scouts had waited for the detachment to come up. Mostly it was the dark though, you cannot track properly at night unless you get really lucky and there is a lot of sign to track. So it was decided to make a camp then get up at sunrise and continue the pursuit. The horses were set up on tie lines and guards appointed. Besides the fugitives there was also the possibility some Indians might try and steal the animals. Many Indians were particularly good at such things. The last thing they needed was the humiliation of having to walk back all the way to the fort like a bunch of infantry.
A few fires were lit so the men could eat hot chow and have their ration of coffee. Barlow was one of those officers who did care about the mens' morale and welfare. Not all officers were. He ought to know, he served under a few during his time. He let his veteran and trustworthy sergeant select the sentries.
Once everybody was settled down he joined the rancher at one of the campfires.
"So how do you like the army now? Not quite as glamorous and exciting as the penny novels make out is it?" she smiled to Cantrell as he fished out his tin coffee cup from his pack.
"So how do you like the army now? Not quite as glamorous and exciting as the penny novels make out is it?" she smiled to Cantrell as he fished out his tin coffee cup from his pack.
Cantrell held up the coffee pot and poured Barlow some into his cup before topping his own off, then he set it back on the fire he had built while Barlow had settled the camp in for the evening. "Well, I did spend about a year in the Army between my graduating and the War starting. I came back East with General Johnston from California and many others who resigned."
Cantrell looked around the camp and then inhaled a bit. "I miss the Army...Blue or Gray. Oh, I don't miss the hunger, and the killing, and the dying...but there were some good people there."
Cantrell sat silent for a minute then stirred. He reached over into a saddle bag and tugged out a leather holder. He opened the flap and offered one of the thin cheroots to Barlow. "Smoke? They're my personal recipe. I have them made for me in San Francisco. I spent several years there after the War."
Storyteller / Shared NPC
All the relaxation after a long day in the saddle and the quiet conversation suddenly were disturbed by a shot ringing out! It came from the direction of the horse lines. There was a shout too or rather, a cry which sounded like a painful one. Followed by another shot then another.
Benjamin dumped his coffee as he stood up and went for his revolver in the standard military holster so he had to also undo the snap. An army holster had never been designed for a fast draw. The rest of the troopers encamped had a wide range of reactions from confusion to freezing in place to lunging for their weapons.
"What the hell?" "By the horses!" "Is it Injuns?" it was a sudden babble of voices.
Benjamin's instant thought was Indians too but really Plains tribes did not attack at night. No, it could well be the deserters. He would of course never have figured them so bold. As he and some others approached the horse lines, the animals were disturbed by all the sudden commotion but none had tried to bolt from their lines.
His eyes tried to adjust from the bright light of the campfires to the sudden darkness of the night. There on the ground was one of his troopers, he was sitting up and holding his left leg at the knee with both hands, grunting in obvious pain. His carbine was on the ground next to him. Deeper out into the blackness there was another crack of a shot fired, Benjamin knew it to be a Sharps carbine, his men's standard issue. Of course the deserters had one too. Then another two shots very close together out there, those were pistol shots. But no one could make out any figures.
Barlow, gun now out, halted by the wounded trooper, the sergeant had posted two sentries for the horses, where was the second one.
"Larson...where's the other sentry?" the captain demanded.
"Out there someplace! Bastards shot me they did...dammit all!" Larson answered thru his pain.
Barlow glared into the darkness and turned to the rancher volunteer, "Well, this is shit! It has to be our fugitives....."
But either firing into the wild with no visible targets was not a viable strategy and neither was running around out there trying to locate them. Complicating things he had a zealous trooper out there who seemingly went in chase.
The shot had come from where the horses were picketed and Ke Na Tay was on his feet and moving toward the sounds of the gunfire while McIntosh was moving quickly to where the soldiers and Barlow were.
"Ke Ni Tay's off after where the shots come from, he'll come cak with something even if it's only where they went." He reported, "So's nobody shoots him on his way back in."
It would be some time before Ke Ni Tay would be returning to the camp of the blue coats and McIntosh. Tracking in the dark, or near dark depending on the moon is far different than tracking by day, and not nearly as fast. But there were tracks, there were always tracks to follow, and that was one of the Apache's many skills.
His first stop was near where the horses were and the Indian was working in something resembling a half-moon area, He had not deciphered whether the shots were rifle or pistol, if rifle, there would be brass in the sand where they had been ejected. and the initial tacks of the man or men and any horse that was with them.
There were no spent cartridges to be found, so the reports must have come from a pistol, but there were tacks of one man where he had come from, to where he stood for the first shot, and then moving for each of the other shots, indiscriminately discharged before he ran into the foliage for his escape.
Ke Ni Tay paused, probing the night with trained eyes, only a fool would dash into the thicket without taking care tobe sure it was not a trap.
OOC: Just for clarity sake, Ke-Ni-Tay is pretty much correct. The deserters only fired their revolvers so no shells on the ground from them. But the guard who chased them did fire his carbine so if he was lucky he'd find one ejected shell.
My next post I will have the Apache spot the zealous sentry who is, after all, still out there in the dark.
Gotta wait on Longshot to post Cantrell first.