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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Bobitron" data-source="post: 2262917" data-attributes="member: 25479">The morning sun bright overhead, Michael and D’Artois ride off together to find a suitable crossing place. It isn’t hard to spot one, and they return an hour. Keeping the horses at a slow pace to compensate for the late-night run last evening, you make slow progress up the trail north. The uncomfortable silence still lingers in the air, and nobody seems willing to break it yet. After a short stop by a muddy stream for water and lunch, the posse moves along. Up ahead in the burning sun of mid-afternoon a hill rises, made up of broken rock and large boulders. Sparse vegetation covers the western face, but the eastern side where the road runs appears to have been sheared clean by a landslide recently.As you approach the hill, the Marshal raise his hand in warning, his sharp eyes picking out a detail you have so far missed. Pointing towards the trail ahead, he says “There’s a wagon, half-buried in the debris from the slide. Let’s check it out, gentlemen.” Shading your eyes from the sun, you see that a wagon indeed sits smashed within the stone and dirt. Dust rises from nearby, and you can see a couple figures moving around it, lifting something from the demolished bed.</blockquote>