Could you drive for us, Captain? Clara asked, handing him the reins to the little mule team before he could answer. The man must of have lost his wits, what few he had. He had met rough men in Arkansas and backed several of them down and arrested them, but this was different: the dying buffalo hunter had had nothing but a patch of blood between his legs. It was just as well forgotten: none of it mattered compared to Dee.
If they would give him his gun back, they couldn't mean to harm him. Call had finished his hammering and stood resting. She sipped her whiskey and watched him. He noticed with surprise that the young Indian was near him, already dead.
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