We set out after breakfast the next morning. The day started off cooler than those that had gone before it, and the cliffs were tinged with blue and purple shadows, accentuated by the flutter and swoop of a flock of dark-winged birds.
The horses and mules clopped along the sandy trail, the sound of their hooves beating out a monotonous rhythm in my head. Clint’s bay mare in front of me lifted her tail and dropped a mass of dung, scenting the delicate air of morning with the smell of horse-processed hay and oats.
An odd sensation rested in the pit of my stomach and I realized I wasn’t looking forward to the day. That didn’t make sense to me because everything pointed to a sensational day ahead, possibly culminating in the discovery of a gold mine people had searched after for more than a
