Will Aden, Abel Milliken, and Timothy Grant hit the trail before the sun first started glinting across the eastern hillside, while the morning star still hung low, Timothy cursing their misfortune with every step. "We ain't gonna find shit out here. What we got to trade?" His Winchester slung over his shoulder was loaded with the last of his ammo. Somewhere south the rest of the camp had yet to awake. Timothy had insisted that there was no real hope in sight, but Will Aden's decision to head toward Cedar City had been made and Timothy and Abel had always supported Will's stubborn decisions. In his heart, Timothy knew there was no other option, but that knowledge did little to prevent him from voicing his pessimistic views. "I mean shit, they'll be wanting us to whore out the women." "It comes to that, we'll have to steal enough horses and kill any pursuers." Abel fingered his own ancient gun. A muzzle-loader with a bent sighting iron, he preferred it to the modern Winchester rifle. "Got plenty of dry powder and musket balls." "We ain't stealing no horses, and we sure as shit ain't whoring out the women. I tell yah, Elijah's watching out for us and if you ain't got the faith in him then you just gonna have to have faith in me." Will's furious, but he's hiding it. Laban's scouting told him all he needed to know.. those indians had been hired by white men to kill settlers. Already their animals were probably moved into a local rancher's stock. He didn't know what they'd find at Cedar City, but he was determined to keep a tight rein on Timothy and Abel until he knew for certain they'd been raided by the locals. He held on to the hope that they'd find a friendly town full of moral god fearin' folk. But if not, well... they didn't call him the prairiewolf for nothing. The scars across his face glistened in the light of the rising sun.