Now they were close enough for Ryan to be able to make out what the silver badge was that both men wore on their chests. It was a cross, with another crooked cross laid over it, one that he knew was called a swastika, making it into a strange sort of a double-cross.
He could also now make a reasonable guess at the revolvers in the matching holsters. They were unusual blasters, very powerful Hawes Western Marshals, .357-caliber, single action, holding six rounds. Then the sun glinted off the brass-grip frame, and he slightly changed his opinion. The revolvers were actually the Montana Marshal model.
“Seen enough, outlander?” Owsley snapped, catching him staring at the weapons.
“Yeah. Nice blasters. Look in real fine condition, too. Like to see such good weapons well cared for. Where did you all manage to find them?”
Steele answered him. “Brother Joshua came across them in a hidden closet at the back of a burned-out blaster store. Out beyond Muir Pass. Years back. There were the long blasters, as well as two dozen of the Hawes hand blasters.”
“Anything else?” asked J.B., unable to conceal his own interest.
Steele shook his head. “Guess not. We got a few blasters that we’ve gotten… sort of acquired over the years. Few self-mades and patch-ups from the Mescalero.”
The trail rose slowly over the next hundred yards, then reached a point where the massive trees had been cleared well back on both sides. Beyond the crest the whole area opened right out into a very large, sunlit clearing, a good three hundred yards across, roughly circular.
“This is called Hopeville,” Steele said, holding his arms out wide to encompass the settlement of various timber buildings. “Welcome.”
Ryan made a quick count of the scattered ville, making it around thirty of what looked like basic log cabins, rather similar to Mom’s Place. They weren’t laid out in any particular pattern, jumbled with no recognizable layout of streets. There was also what looked like a frontier church, though the windows had heavy, barred shutters that were clearly designed to be used as fire ports. Ryan also spotted a much larger, fortified house, near the center of the colony.
Most of the buildings had short chimneys, all with covers to stop any attacker gaining access that way. And roughly one-third of them showed smoke.
About a dozen men were visible. A couple carried rifles and seemed to be on a regular patrol, on the northern flank of the camp. One was chopping wood while another was skinning a large pig that had been slung up on a makeshift scaffold over a vat of boiling water. Two more were leading a pair of plow horses through the heart of the ville.
Ryan also spotted about five women, every one of them busily engaged in washing or cooking activities. None of them took much notice of the arrival of the group of outlanders. A few lean dogs scavenged around the backs of the houses, several of them hanging around the man working on the pig’s carcass.
He noticed immediately that there were no children at all to be seen in Hopeville.
“How you defend the place against any hostiles, like the Apaches?” J.B. asked.
Jim Owsley ignored the question, walking on toward the largest of the houses. But Josiah Steele seemed happy to answer anything that was asked.
“I wasn’t here back in the early days of the Children of the Rock.” Ryan saw the sec man’s fingers stray to touch the silver double-cross on his chest as he mentioned the name of the community. “But I know that Brother Wolfe tried to build a wall, defensive to the ville. But it was impossible.”
“Why?” said Ryan.
Owsley stopped and swung on his heel. “You ask too many fucking questions, outlander!”
Steele held up a cautionary hand. “Now, now,” he said quietly. “A friend in Hopeville is worth an hundred enemies. You know that’s what Brother Wolfe preaches.”
“Sure.”
The taller of the men grinned at Ryan, turning to allow his smile to take in everyone in the party. “Impossible because of the terrain here. Too many trees. Too big to man a perimeter. Too few of us.”