A rather short man claiming to be a Colorado Mounted Ranger scratched his head and spit brown saliva into a can. Bryce thought he remembered the man calling himself Luck. “Yes, sir. I believe I’ve stated that fact more than once now,” Bryce said, frustrated with Luck’s inability to grasp what he was saying. “Any idea as to the man’s identity?” “I think he was James Latham.” “His name don’t ring no bell.” Luck wiped his chin with the back of a dirty cuff. “And you say he’s dead?” “Yep, dead.” “Well, I’ll ride out tomorrow and take a look see. Ain’t no use in doing it tonight. You sure he was dead, now?” “Very dead. He definitely passed in his chips.” “Reckon if you told me everything, we can consider it self-defense.” He rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “I’ll file my report that way. Where will you be if I need to get in touch with you?” Bryce shook his head, not really sure. “I’m escortin’ Miss Kanatzer to Oresonville, but I’m not sure where we’ll be once we get there.”
