Less done on this than I’d like, but it was that kind of day.
Bailey made pretty good time before it got too hot to keep on going and he had to find a decent enough place out of the sun to rest, and maybe even take a quick doze. And there was one; a half-enclosed, half filled in arroyo just big enough for a couple of horses and a small wagon. He could tell because that’s what was there, along with a trio of men. And these were keeping better watch than Jimmy had; it was just blind luck a horse had neighed at something or other in time to warn Bailey.
Once he did see them, Bailey crawled — very carefully — to a spot where he could get a decent view with his spyglass. It wasn’t good news; the three men had the look of soldiers. They were dressed in Royalist grey uniforms and carried Enfields; their tack and gear looked in good order. If these fellows are deserters, Bailey thought, it was just now. But he figured these three Royalist soldiers were out here to meet with a Royalist spy. A dead spy, but they probably didn’t know that yet.
Bailey considered his options. Shooting all three of them could be done, but it’d be bad odds. Plugging one would be simple, but the other two would have opinions about being next, and they had longer guns than he did. No point getting two if the third got him. But if Bailey just kept going, he’d never find out why they were there. What mischief could those three get up to, on the frontier?