CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The two marshals sat astride their horses, both men swathed in thick buffalo coats, those parts of their faces not covered by scarves were blue with cold. They had slept fitfully, forever turning and stretching, trying their best to find some form of comfort to help them rest. The cold bit deep into their bones, the ground was iron hard and sleep avoided them. They finally managed a few hours and woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee made by Cole, who seemed rested and fresh.
They headed off not long after but soon Cole signaled for them to stop. Jumping down, on all fours, Cole searched the ground, blew out his cheeks, and stood up. “It’s confusing,” he said at long last.
“What is?”
“The number of tracks. Quite a few horses have passed this way, but these here,”
