Untitled Chapter

The second horse, taken from the false caravan, bore the other five sacks and bent under the weight. Jack patted its neck. "Get through it," he said. "I'm doing the same." He did not return by the way he had come. His father's journal named another route. North through the throat of Broken Hand Rock, around the dry salt lake, then southwest to the Santa Rosa trading post. There was a furnace there. There were also men who did not ask too many questions. In the West, men who asked no questions often charged the highest price. As Jack left the canyon, he saw three riders on the ridge. They did not approach. They did not leave. Jack stopped, his right hand hanging near his holster. The tallest rider lifted a hand in a slow sign.