Sarah held the cooling tin cup of coffee between her palms, savoring the potent smell. She had never cared much for the drink, but her father drank it often and the smell of roasting grounds reminded her of better days.
Sheriff Bart’s group of officers caught up with them at Devil’s Rock and led them back into the desert with Ben in tow as their prisoner. A chain was tied between his cuffs and Sheriff Bart had one end wrapped around his gloved fist instead of tying it to the saddle like she had assumed he would do. Ben was in obvious pain. Sarah assumed it was from the bullet that was still lodged in his leg, but she could see the burnt skin beneath the metal that bound his wrists.