Gray quit the ring in 1885, after he took a terrible beating from the great Jack Kilrain, fighting under brutal London bare-knuckle rules before they were banned in the United States. Too many blows to the head had left Gray mentally unbalanced. He was not a revolver fighter like Mickey Pauleen, but a sadistic killer for hire who murdered with neither mercy nor remorse. Silent, grim, his head like a block of rough-hewn granite, Gray was not a convivial traveling companion, and he and Pauleen had not uttered a word to each other since they’d left Last Chance. After several hours, Pauleen drew rein at the top of a shallow ridge that looked like a petrified sand dune chiseled out of the desert floor. Below him, raked by the relentless sun, stretched a flat expanse of thorn scrub and cactus, cut through by a wide trail made by the passage of many feet. Without a word, Pauleen swung out of the saddle and inspected the tracks, including deep ruts made by heavy wagons and the hoofprints of outriders.
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