One was a dead cottontail lying near him. Across the pen two horses were stamping and snorting nervously, but Deets didn't get up to go look. He wasn't fast but he was sure. Call felt sick with worry--the sandstorm was the worst possible luck, for it slowed down the herd and sapped the animals' strength just when they needed all they had just to reach the water.
They caught him right away, but not without a gun battle. I may be one yet, Augustus said. Once you make it down below the Red River you'll probably be all right. He took a few steps to the side when he said it, for he had known men to shoot from reflex when they were frightened.
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