Wilbarger loaned me that tent, Augustus said. It was the same old Clara, so far as spirit went, though her body had changed. She had only to look them in the eye for it to happen--it was her revenge. He had only been sixteen then, but he made a good Ranger.
He knelt down and pulled the Negro's bloodstained shirt loose from his pants, exposing the wound. He could watch without her knowing it. With his mind made up, he felt cheerful--it always gave a man a lift to escape death. She looked like a frightened young girl.
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