Eventually, he stood back from the table, the marked up map in front of him.
“So that’s it,” Baron Silas said flatly.
Crow nodded. “And they reckon that the sabotage isn’t from the camp at all, but from an outside source?” Again the Native American merely nodded. Baron Silas whistled softly. “This is gonna be more difficult than I ever thought.”
Chapter Sixteen
The night was still and silent. Dean exhaled, his breath misting on the cold air and mingling with the mist created by the breath of his horse, forming a cloud around them.
He looked at his wrist chron. It was only halfway through his watch, and he tugged gently on the mane of his mount to turn it slightly to the left, giving him a better view down the pipeline toward the storage tanks. There was nowhere for him to huddle, no recess to provide even the slightest touch of closed-in warmth. He shivered under his heavy coat. So far there had been nothing. If it stayed that way, then it would be a wasted night.
But it didn’t stay that way. As he turned his horse the other way, to survey the opposite direction, he heard the distant rumble of a wag engine across the desert. It came from behind him…no, from the direction he was facing…but then again.
“Hot pipe!” Dean muttered to himself. “Three of the bastards.”
JAK AND KRYSTY HAD BEEN the first to know they were coming. Krysty’s mutie sense of danger and threat, and Jak’s acute hearing, attuned through generations of hunters, had given them the indication before the others would have any clue. Jak was out by the derrick, and he could tell immediately that there were three wags. One was headed for the storage tanks, one for the refinery area and one toward him. He wheeled his horse around so that he could ride to the blind side of the derrick and see across the still and flat land beyond. His sense of direction told him that the wag nearest to him was circling around to come his way, the pitch of the engine changing as it moved behind dunes and hummocks of dry earth.
Krysty felt her hair tighten on her scalp before she had the opportunity to register the sound. The Titian-red curls drew in close to her skin, winding around her neck. She stilled her breathing so that she could hear better. Although not as sharp as Jak’s, she had sensitive hearing, and could tell that one of the wags was headed for the refinery area, which was where she was stationed. Krysty had been assigned first watch on the two pump houses joined by the covered walkway, leaving the farthest refinery building unattended for the watch. It was also the building that faced out onto the desert, and although she had questioned Ryan as to whether it would be better to cover that and so keep the unprotected side of the entire refinery covered, she had accepted his reasoning that this way they could keep more of the actual machinery covered.
It had been a gamble where the cards were falling badly.
The wags were now approaching at speed, and were audible to every member of the party.
Dean spoke into his radio. “Three wags. Looks like one of them is headed for the storage tanks.”
“Check. One is going for the outlying refinery block,” Krysty’s voice crackled over the handset.
“Fireblast!” Ryan yelled into his radio. “Anyone get a direction on the third?”
“Around back to wellhead,” Jak snapped into his radio. “I take it.”
“I’m nearest you,” J.B. returned quickly. “I’ll ride over. Doc, Mildred—you’re nearest Krysty, so you head that way.”
“Good,” Ryan snapped back. “Dean, I’m nearest you, so I’ll come to you. Head for the tanks. What I want to know is how the hell they knew those were unprotected points.”
“Mebbe just luck,” J.B. said.
“A whole shit load of luck if it is,” Ryan said sourly. “Let’s get moving.”
THE QUESTION OF HOW the three wags knew to head for areas that weren’t under watch was something that had crossed the minds of all of the companions, but right now there were more important matters to attend to. The wags were closing in fast, and although the distances involved weren’t that great, the horses the companions were using weren’t the fastest creatures any of them had ever seen. It was a race against time when there was no time. Jak turned his mount and started to drum his heels against the beast’s flanks, spurring it into action and heading it toward the far side of the derrick. As he gripped the mane of the horse with one hand, his other drew the Colt Python and readied the blaster for action. Firing from a moving animal was harder than from a wag, but Jak had sure instincts and this should compensate if need be. Besides which, he knew the Armorer would be close behind.