I took it when I was young, and had it ever since. It was the shotgun that had knocked him down--the old fool had whacked him across the shoulder blades with it. He wasn't a killer, Augustus said. I guess it's ours.
A half mile from the main camp he came upon the very woman who had given Dish the pain. I don't know how you can see that far, Gus, she said. In those hours he would lose himself in memory of other times, of other men who had lived with horses, who had broken them, ridden them, died on them. He adjusted his bandana over his nose and he pulled his hat down as far as it would go.
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