NineRiding out across the plain, Josh and Clifton set off from Glory in the early morning, well muffled in greatcoats, gloves and scarves. The stream of smoke from the chimneystack of the homestead, cutting through the cold air, acted like a beacon guiding the two men unerringly towards their destination.
A hundred paces from the lone cabin, with its adjacent lean-to where animals could shelter from the cold, they reined in their horses and sat, breathing hard. Clifton munched on a plug of tobacco, face screwed up against the fierce breeze assaulting his flesh like a thousand needles. “I want sour belly and eggs, with a gallon of coffee, inside me before I do anything else.” He twisted in his saddle. “You reckon they got such things?”
“Could be,” said Josh, his voice sounding distorted b
