It was very hot, and it was still. Jagged ridges thrust themselves from the earth, their crevasses and deep-furrowed sides filled with blown white sand. A dust devil danced before me and I pushed on, seeing the roofs of the town take shape. There was no sound but that of my horse’s hoofs on the hard-packed trail as I walked him down the last slope to Silver Reef. The town lay sprawled haphazardly along the main street. There were the usual frontier saloons, stores, churches, and homes. The sign on the Elk Horn caught my attention, so I swung my horse into the shade in front of the saloon and dismounted. “Rye?” At my nod, the bartender served me. He was a bald-headed man with narrow eyes. “How’s things in the mines?” “So-so. But you ain’t no miner.” His eyes took in my cowhand’s clothing, and I knew he had seen my two tied-down guns when I came in. “This here’s a quiet town. We don’t see many gun handlers around here. Place for them is over east.” “Hattan’s?”
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