are swinging back to the Hole-in-the-Wall just like I thought. It’s the only place for a bunch like that to get fresh horses and grub.”
“We should be right on their trail,” said Elzy enthusiastically. “What do you think of that, Lieutenant McGhan?”
Mike did not answer him but sat motionless in the saddle staring out across the great expanse of the basin. Butch looked at Pat who shrugged his shoulders.
“Uncle Mike,” Pat interceded, “was there something else in the telegram?”
“Nell Quinn’s dead,” he said softly.
He shoved the telegram in his coat pocket and kneed his horse.
“Nothin’ I can do about it out here,” Mike said stoically. “Let’s go.”
He took the lead although he had no idea where he was going. Butch finally moved in front again when Mike began to wander off the trail. He did not speak for the rest of the afternoon as the small party moved across the desolate basin towards the Great Divide. They stopped occasionally to let their horses feed on the sparse buffalo grass and then remounted and moved on. The posse was surrounded on all sides by mountains, but none ever seemed to get any closer. Only passing tumbleweeds gave them any sense of motion.
As they moved higher, the wind turned colder, and they pulled their hats down tight on their heads. They began to track through occasional patches of snow. The four riders rolled back and forth rhythmically with the gait of the horses. Patrick, unable to stand the monotony any longer, pulled up alongside the lead rider.
“Hey Butch, how much longer are we going to ride today?”
“We got a ways to go yet,” he replied. “Like to get to South Pass before we make camp for the night. Sure don’t want to try to bed down out here in the wind.”
“Where is this pass at?” asked Patrick. “All I see is mountains around us.”
“See how the Wind River Range sort of peters out there ahead of us,” said Butch, pointing with his free hand. “That’s where it’s at. It’s so wide and goes up so easy, you wouldn’t even know it’s a pass unless I told you.”
“I’m going to trust you that it’s there. Just tell me how much longer will we have to ride? My ass is really aching.”
“Just a couple more hours,” Butch said with a sympathetic smile. “How’s your Uncle doing? Looked like that news hit him pretty hard.”
“Yes, I don’t really understand what it’s about, but I know that you don’t question Uncle Mike about his business.”
“Yep, he’s a hard man all right,” said Butch. “I suppose police work in a big city will make you that way.”
Elzy Lay spurred his horse and pulled up alongside of them.
“Hey, Patrick, your uncle looks like somebody ripped his guts out and fed’em to coyotes. Who was this Nell Quinn?”
“I didn’t really know she was anything to Uncle Mike,” he said. “She’s a high-priced hooker who came from our old Bridgeport neighborhood. A real schemer. She was connected. Had a lot of friends in city hall. I heard Uncle Mike saw her on occasion, but I didn’t know he was involved with her.”
“Well, why don’t you drop back and ride with your Uncle?” Butch suggested. “If we’re all up here and he’s back there alone, it don’t take much of a detective to figure out we’re up here gossipin’ about him like three old hens.”
“Good point,” said Patrick and he pulled on the reins to turn his horse around. By the time he got the dappled gray to respond, Mike had caught up to him. Patrick smiled but Mike rode past him without acknowledging his presence. His gaze was fixed on the horizon. Patrick finally managed to pull up beside him and attempted some small talk, but Mike did not break his silence. They began to climb out of the bleak, sagebrush-strewn prairie towards a broad gap in the Wind River Mountains called South Pass. As they crossed the Continental Divide, the wind picked up and the temperature dropped, and they hunkered down closer to their
“We should be right on their trail,” said Elzy enthusiastically. “What do you think of that, Lieutenant McGhan?”
Mike did not answer him but sat motionless in the saddle staring out across the great expanse of the basin. Butch looked at Pat who shrugged his shoulders.
“Uncle Mike,” Pat interceded, “was there something else in the telegram?”
“Nell Quinn’s dead,” he said softly.
He shoved the telegram in his coat pocket and kneed his horse.
“Nothin’ I can do about it out here,” Mike said stoically. “Let’s go.”
He took the lead although he had no idea where he was going. Butch finally moved in front again when Mike began to wander off the trail. He did not speak for the rest of the afternoon as the small party moved across the desolate basin towards the Great Divide. They stopped occasionally to let their horses feed on the sparse buffalo grass and then remounted and moved on. The posse was surrounded on all sides by mountains, but none ever seemed to get any closer. Only passing tumbleweeds gave them any sense of motion.
As they moved higher, the wind turned colder, and they pulled their hats down tight on their heads. They began to track through occasional patches of snow. The four riders rolled back and forth rhythmically with the gait of the horses. Patrick, unable to stand the monotony any longer, pulled up alongside the lead rider.
“Hey Butch, how much longer are we going to ride today?”
“We got a ways to go yet,” he replied. “Like to get to South Pass before we make camp for the night. Sure don’t want to try to bed down out here in the wind.”
“Where is this pass at?” asked Patrick. “All I see is mountains around us.”
“See how the Wind River Range sort of peters out there ahead of us,” said Butch, pointing with his free hand. “That’s where it’s at. It’s so wide and goes up so easy, you wouldn’t even know it’s a pass unless I told you.”
“I’m going to trust you that it’s there. Just tell me how much longer will we have to ride? My ass is really aching.”
“Just a couple more hours,” Butch said with a sympathetic smile. “How’s your Uncle doing? Looked like that news hit him pretty hard.”
“Yes, I don’t really understand what it’s about, but I know that you don’t question Uncle Mike about his business.”
“Yep, he’s a hard man all right,” said Butch. “I suppose police work in a big city will make you that way.”
Elzy Lay spurred his horse and pulled up alongside of them.
“Hey, Patrick, your uncle looks like somebody ripped his guts out and fed’em to coyotes. Who was this Nell Quinn?”
“I didn’t really know she was anything to Uncle Mike,” he said. “She’s a high-priced hooker who came from our old Bridgeport neighborhood. A real schemer. She was connected. Had a lot of friends in city hall. I heard Uncle Mike saw her on occasion, but I didn’t know he was involved with her.”
“Well, why don’t you drop back and ride with your Uncle?” Butch suggested. “If we’re all up here and he’s back there alone, it don’t take much of a detective to figure out we’re up here gossipin’ about him like three old hens.”
“Good point,” said Patrick and he pulled on the reins to turn his horse around. By the time he got the dappled gray to respond, Mike had caught up to him. Patrick smiled but Mike rode past him without acknowledging his presence. His gaze was fixed on the horizon. Patrick finally managed to pull up beside him and attempted some small talk, but Mike did not break his silence. They began to climb out of the bleak, sagebrush-strewn prairie towards a broad gap in the Wind River Mountains called South Pass. As they crossed the Continental Divide, the wind picked up and the temperature dropped, and they hunkered down closer to their
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