CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The man stank of sweat and leather, forcing Simpson to screw up his nostrils and turn his face away. Crammed up together on the back of his horse, the deputy found himself wishing he was back in Kansas City with his feet up in a nice, warm office, drinking coffee and not doing much else. Anywhere but here. Cold wind bit deep into the flesh beneath his coat. His ears and nose hurt and his fingers, encased in leather gloves, were numb.
This was as far from the promise made to him when he first volunteered himself for service less than six months before. They said, due to his outstanding character and remarkable pistol skills, he would soon find himself in a Washington post, training others. It was all hogwash, and he felt himself a fool for swallowing it all. Closing hi
