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Weekly Contest #98
PROLOGUE Wednesday, October 9, 1867 Three miles east of South Pass City, Wyoming Territory It was approaching sundown when Polly Bartlett spied the doctor from her parlor window. He had turned off the Oregon Road onto the rougher track leading into Slaughterhouse Gulch and subsequently into the yard of her father’s inn. If you could label dirt and sagebrush a yard, she thought. She knew he was a physician simply from the bag strapped to the pommel of his saddle, all doctors carried just that style of valise to hold medications, along with...
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