John Whitehorn had just woke up. He was in a dark, dingy, dirty hotel room in the one-horse town of Dawson. Dawson sat on the eastern foothills of Rocky Mountains in the middle of Colfax County in the north of the New Mexico Territory. This was gold country And John knew his bounty was here and he knew exactly where to find him. He laid there in bed thinking about the smells of sweat, urine, cheap perfume and the scum he had been tracking for more than a year. This journey had taken him all the way from Amarillo, Texas. He thought about his life as a bounty hunter for the past 25 years feeling lonely and how angry he had become at mankind in general.
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