NineRemnants of violence on the journey west
They made steady progress across the open vastness of the plain, occasional outcrops of rock or sparse patches of vegetation hyphenating the otherwise uniform greyness of the land. Deep Water scouted ahead, often dropping out of sight, but always returning to report on the emptiness awaiting them. Until, on the fourth day, when he rode up with his expression ingrained with concern.
“There is a camp ahead.”
Simms shot a glance towards Cartwright, whose back grew rigid, his mouth a thin line, face ashen. “Is it them?” asked the young man.
“No. But there is someone there. A dead man.”
The dead man, as the three rolled into the deserted camp, was on his back, eyes wide open, flesh burned black by the unrelenting sun. A gaping hole beneath his l
