The hard saddle and the prospect of the impending journey were as much an unwelcome development as Scrap’s return. Reality had ridden back into Arroyo long before Josiah was ready, but it was too late to lament the hard facts of his circumstances. It was time to leave. A thin grayness grasped at the golden evening light in the far corners of the sky. Darkness would follow them to camp, quick on their heels. Josiah had thought about trying to waylay Scrap—reasoning it would be best to spend another night in Arroyo, but he knew he was just being selfish, that he was trying to steal away more time with Francesca. Any thought of such a thing was gone, had been gone the moment Josiah walked into the cantina and found Scrap in a surly mood with a prisoner in hand. He still didn’t know the details of the capture, but he figured that would come soon enough. Scrap would have to relay the events to Captain McNelly, just like Josiah would have to tell his commanding officer of his new wounds.
