Somehow, the tired men had reached the cemetery, none of them hardly able to run any further. The journey through deep snow was far different from the clay fields of Mississippi. Several of the men looked at the colonel’s tomb but there was no recreation of the specter they had seen so many nights ago; no dead man stood with a dire warning, the missing ghost more worrisome than its presence.

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A single set of tracks still marred the snow, very fresh in the falling snow and wind. Pace had passed this way, but there was no trace of the figure Robert had seen for a single moment; the Robber King left no tracks.

Either way, the theory was still correct. The Lieutenant’s destination had to be the warehouse and the destruction of all provisions.

“Come on,” Robert said to the men as he pointed to the trail of prints, “we can’t be too far behind.”