Her name was Noreen and she sat on the buckboard with her face set straight ahead, her vision blurred by the tears she shed.
The nag trundled on, head down, resolved to its constant burden of pulling the wagon. But Noreen paid the animal little heed and when it keeled over and died on the ground, she sat down beside it and knew her own death was close. She drank the last of her water that same morning and studied Mason"s Navy Colt, wondering if she should end it now.
She stood after a long, long time and trudged to the rear of the wagon to take a look inside, the first time she had done so since leaving Bovey. She found a collection of cooking utensils, clothes and blankets. Some were blood-stained, but there was nothing of any use, nothing to relieve her situation so she hung her head,
