rear. They were with the cavalcade, but not of it.
Out of the mountain, riding towards Pioche Gap, they let the horses stretch to a gallop. On the wagon road they slowed down. Hollister began to make remarks that brought laughter from those nearest to him, laughter of a kind that Sheridan did not fancy. He and Red pressed in closer to the leader who was trying to regain prestige. He noticed them, turning in his saddle, and raised his voice.
"Coffee—coffee and doughnuts! Hell!" he said in derision, up-ending the flask he had carried and flinging it crashing on the rocks of the stream. There had been more or less drinking going on since they had left the upland meadow.
"Didn't you like them doughnuts?" asked Jackson quietly. "I noticed you took two."
"Jest to make sure how punk they was. What's it to you?"
"I'm sorry you don't like doughnuts, Hollister. Becoz I'm aimin' to git a dozen, not the kind we eat tonight, but a dozen from Pioche. The staler they are the better. And I aim to feed 'em to you, one at a time, 'thout coffee, or water, an' between each you can tell me jest how much better was the ones you had fed you tonight, you ungrateful swine."
It was a challenge and an insult. There was small reason to think it a mere threat without purpose behind it. Red's voice, light enough, but unusually distinct, precluded that. Hollister glanced at him, seemingly undecided whether to take issue immediately. Drink was mounting in him but he was
