The Upamona Gold Claim Wrangle

The red-haired rider on a bay horse, sun-burnished and hot, was lost, not in the geographical sense of the word, but in the workings of his mind as he mumbled and ruminated on the situation he was in. He had no one to talk to but his horse. "Here we are, Tanky, going after two escapees who at last report were hiding out in the Uintah Mountains. All we go to do is find a man named Slim Sanglant, who was in prison with them two and is supposed to be running a herd of sheep out of Upamona. We catch up with him and we'll be mighty close to those outlaws, Rueben Graves and Hosea Fish." He pulled his horse to a walk, removed his new, gray-colored hat and ran a hand through the thick, red hair that had been cut shorter than he was used to. He wiped the sweat off the inside of the hat, ran his hand across his brow, delighting in the fresh breeze, and replaced the topper firmly on his head. "Hah! It's going to take more than luck, Tanky. Graves and Fish are sly, vicious, and ruthless, breaking out of prison like that, killing a guard and getting lost in the West on top of all the other crimes they were sent up for. It shouln't be hard to find that Sanglant in a small town like this, though." Talking to his horse was soothing to him and Tanky, even if there was no particular reaction from the bay. The afternoon sun, beating down on his hat and shoulders, caused the sweat to make stains under the arms and around the collar of his light brown shirt, and Red Skene, U. S. Marshal, was beginning to get saddle sore from riding the leather since dawn. He stood up in the stirrups and let the air circulate over the damp saddle and his lower body. He replaced his rear on the hot saddle.