At a nameless turn on the trail between El Paso and Tucson lay the carcass of a young woman. Morning light found her the same time Roger did. Eyes wide and nostrils wide with terror, the grey gelding beneath Roger refused to go near the smudge of black clothes. He dismounted the pony and patted the lean neck. Roger could feel the horse still leaning back on its back legs, ready to return at the drop of a hat.