The posse had been riding hard for several hours, pushing across an arid sagebrush covered expanse, when Butch noticed a persistent puff of dust behind them. He stopped and turned in the saddle, facing the chilled April breeze that had been blowing at their backs.
“Somebody ridin’ awful hard to catch us.”
“Suppose we should stop and let him?” asked Elzy.
“We dun’t have time fer thet,” said Mike impatiently. “If he wants tuh catch us, he’ll have tuh do it on his own.”
“Maybe he’s coming to join up,” suggested Elzy. “I don’t know what you do in Chicago but out here it’s customary to have a few more deputies in a posse.”
Butch considered this a moment and then glanced back at the puff of dust on the horizon.
“Dismount and walk the horses,” he said finally. “They need a break. We don’t know if we’re gonna be able to find fresh mounts so we can’t ride’em into the ground.”
In about a half hour, the rider managed to close the distance between them. He waved his hat as he came within earshot.
“Hey Butch, Hey Elzy, you fellers are tough to catch,” shouted the young rider, a freckled teenager with a wide smile. His horse was lathered and breathing heavy.
“Hey, Lloyd,” said Butch. “Come to join up?”
“Not me, Butch. I got a wife and kid. No, I got a telegraph for detective McGhan,” he announced. “It’s all the way from Chicago. Marshal Parker tells me to make sure he gets it. Damn near winded my horse catchin’ ya.”
“Where’s duh tellygram,” said Mike, cutting the young man’s story short.
“Why, uh, right here, sir.” He handed over the envelope and Mike torn it open. He read the yellow paper as it fluttered in the breeze. Mike’s face blanched white and lost all expression. He sat still in the saddle just staring at the message.
“What is it, Uncle Mike?”
“It’s from Bockleman,” he said finally. “He says a railroad dick said a man matching Red Alvins description got off at Table Rock. Says there was four men with him.”
“That figures. The train has to slow down cause of the grade,” Butch said almost to himself. “They mustah headed for South Pass and are swinging back to the Hole-in-the-Wall just like I thought. It’s the only place for a bunch like that to get fresh horses and grub.”
“We should be right on their trail,” said Elzy enthusiastically. “What do you think of that, Lieutenant McGhan?”
Mike did not answer him but sat motionless in the saddle staring out across the great expanse of the basin. Butch looked at Pat who shrugged his shoulders.
“Uncle Mike,” Pat interceded, “was there something else in the telegram?”
“Nell Quinn’s dead,” he said softly.
He shoved the telegram in his coat pocket and kneed his horse.
“Nothin’ I can do about it out here,” Mike said stoically. “Let’s go.”
He took the lead although he had no idea where he was going. Butch finally moved in front again when Mike began to wander off the trail. He did not speak for the rest of the afternoon as the small party moved across the desolate basin towards the Great Divide. They stopped occasionally to let their horses feed on the sparse buffalo grass and then remounted and moved on. The posse was surrounded on all sides by mountains but none ever seemed to get any closer. Only passing tumbleweeds gave them any sense of motion.
As they moved higher, the wind turned colder and they pulled their hats down tight on their heads. They began to track through occasional patches of snow. The four riders rolled back and forth rhythmically with the gait of the horses. Patrick, unable to stand the monotony any longer, pulled up alongside the lead rider.
“Hey Butch, how much longer are we going to ride today?”
“We got a ways to go yet,” he replied. “Like to get to South Pass before we make camp for the night. Sure don’t want to try to bed down out here in the wind.”
“Where is this pass at?” asked Patrick. “All I see is mountains around us.”
“See how the Wind River range sort of peters out there ahead of us,” said Butch, pointing with his free hand. “That’s where it’s at. It’s so wide and goes up so easy, you wouldn’t even know it’s a pass unless I told you.”
“I’m going to trust you that it’s there. Just tell me how much longer will we have to ride? My ass is really aching.”
“Just a couple more hours,” Butch said with a sympathetic smile. “How’s your Uncle doing? Looked like that news hit him pretty hard.”
“Yes, I don’t really understand what it’s about but I know that you don’t question Uncle Mike about his business.”
“Yep, he’s a hard man all right,” said Butch. “I suppose police work in a big city will make you that way.”
Elzy Lay spurred his horse and pulled up alongside of them.
“Hey, Patrick, your uncle looks like somebody ripped his guts out and feed’em to coyotes. Who was this Nell Quinn?”
“I didn’t really know she was anything to Uncle Mike,” he said. “She’s a high priced hooker who came from our old Bridgeport neighborhood. A real schemer. She was connected. Had a lot of friends in city hall. I heard Uncle Mike saw her on occasion but I didn’t know he was involved with her.”
“Well, why don’t you drop back and ride with your Uncle,” Butch suggested. “If we’re all up here and he’s back there alone, it don’t take much of a detective to figure out we’re up here gossipin’ about him like three old hens.”
“Good point,” said Patrick and he pulled on the reins to turn his horse around. By the time he got the dappled gray to respond, Mike had caught up to him.