It’s midday in the Utah desert. The valley is drenched in sun, like it usually is, but a stiff southerly wind whipping across the valley floor reminds you it’s November. You quickly fasten the steel collar button of your canvas duster and gaze across the valley toward the snow-dusted peaks of the enigmatic Oquirrh Mountains.
Thin columns of smoke rise from mining camps nestled in the distant hills. Your horse snorts as a stagecoach pulled by a four-horse team passes by. You’re standing at the junction of two dirt roads near the north end of Rush Valley. The year is 1880, and you’re visiting the county at the height of its mining boom.
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