A man stepped out of a ramshackle building across the rutted trail and waved to Frank. “Those ole boys pulled out late yesterday, Marshal. Packed up ever'thing and rode out. I'm glad to see them go, personal. Unfriendly bunch, they was." “Did one of them have a bolt-action rifle?" “A what?" “A rifle with a piece of metal sticking out of the top of one side." “Oh. Come to think of it, yeah, one did. That rifle had a telescope on it, too." “They left their tent." “Naw. That tent belongs to whoever claims it. It's been there for a long time. Ain't worth a damn. Leaks." Frank pulled back the flap and looked inside the tent. The ill-fitting board floor was dirty and littered with bits of trash. The interior smelled foul. Frank backed out, wondering how anyone could live that way. “Did any of them ever talk to you?” Frank asked the miner. “Nope. Never said nothin’ to nobody ‘ceptin’ themselves. They was a surly pack of yahoos. And I don't think they was up to no good, neither.
