18
The Rangers gathered quietly around the small fire. It would be extinguished before daylight to prevent detection from the camp below and across the valley.
Tuc squatted as close to the embers as his large frame would allow. Despite it being a fairly warm night, the dawn air chilled him. Perhaps it wasn’t just the temperature, but the nagging feeling that had haunted him ever since Wells had solicited he and Scott Willson…and since Willson’s death.
They had been working on the stage in the local blacksmith shop preparing for the long transit ahead. Willson was pounding out some of the coach’s bent framework, beating it mercilessly. Tuc had been watching, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, enamored with the sparks that flew from the collision of hammer and hot metal. The two
