In the late afternoon, he set out across the plain towards Fort Bridger. Simms followed the ancient trail snaking through the land, a trail so old nobody knew of its origins. Some said it was an old Ute pathway. If it was, they no longer used it. Only pilgrims and homesteaders did so now. He passed a few, plodding along in slow, weary processions, sometimes a dozen or more wagons snaking by. Some acknowledged him, some grabbed for their rifles, most simply kept their eyes set firmly ahead. Simms wondered how many of them would make it.
On the second day, after a breakfast of salted biscuits and steaming coffee, he spotted a cluster of half-erected buildings and turned his horse towards them. Set in the shadow of a small mountain range, the jagged grey peaks soaring way above the tree line
