NineteenSimms noticed Martinson and his horse struggling through the blizzard long before he heard his voice calling across the snow-covered prairie, “Hello in there, get the damned coffee on before I'm frozen solid!”
Closing the door behind him, the detective waited on the porch, smothered in his thick overcoat, gripping the collar tight around his throat.
“It must be desperate news for you to come out in this,” said Simms once his friend had safely stabled his horse in the barn at the rear.
Stamping his feet on the porch, Martinson shook the snow from his shoulders and thrust a piece of paper into Simms's outstretched hand. “Telegram. It said urgent, so I thought …”
Simms stepped aside to allow his merchant friend to enter the warmth of the cabin. Coming up behind him, Simms called a
