The sight of those black-plumed scavengers hovering in the sky never struck a western man as being a beautiful sight. When turkey vultures gathered, they followed death and a corpse, or something near to it, lay below them. Human or animal, it made no never mind to a hungry turkey vulture. Gliding down from the skies, the birds tore flesh from bones and leaving only a picked skeleton behind when they departed. Two days had passed since Danny rode out of Austin and at almost noon, he figured he must be on the eastern ranges of Caspar County, most likely crossing Buck Jerome’s Bench J. “Might be nothing, hoss,” he said, patting the sabino’s neck and glancing at the dun cutting horse borrowed from Sid Watchhorn to aid his disguise and which now followed the sabino without fighting the rope connecting to Danny’s saddle. “I reckon we’d best take us a look though.” Such an action would be in keeping with the character he must play while in Caspar just as much as when he rode in his official capacity of Texas Ranger.
