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By Louis L'Amour

TURN domestic, RIDER
 
during this land, where you permit at the back of may not be there if you come again. at the very least no longer how you knew it. Tack Gentry of the G Bar, Chat Lock of Dutchman’s Flat, and Ward McQueen of the Tumbling okay knew the way it felt to fight opposed to males who have been attempting to take from them what they believed in. For the undesirable rush in while the great go away, and males will decide to struggle, not only over drunken threats, playing losses, and honor, yet for land, friendships, kinfolk, or even love—a fight magnificently captured in those 11 nice tales written and handpicked by means of the incomparable Louis L’Amour himself.

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Sample text

The mill was dark and silent, a great looming bulk beside the stream and the still pool of the millpond. They dismounted and eased close. Then according to a prearranged plan, they scattered and surrounded it. From behind a lodgepole pine, Hardin called out. “We're comin' in, Lock! ” THE CHALLENGE WAS harsh and ringing. Now that the moment had come, something of the old suspense returned. They listened to the water babbling as it trickled over the old dam, and then they moved. At their first step, they heard Lock's voice.

No such thing! He was a-facin' the bar when I come in. He seen I was heeled, an' he drawed as he turned. I beat him to it. My first shot took him in the side an' he was knocked back against the bar. My second hit him in the back an' the third missed as he was a-fallin'. ” The sound of his voice trailed off, and the water chuckled over the stones and then sighed to a murmur among the trees. The logic of Lock's statement struck them all. It could have been that way. A long moment passed, and then Hardin spoke up again.

The vast emptiness of the basin they skirted now was becoming lost in the misty purple light of late afternoon. On the right, the wall of the mountain grew steeper and turned a deeper red. The burnt red of the earlier hours was now a bright rust red, and here and there long fingers of quartz shot their white arrows down into the face of the cliff. THEY ALL SAW the next message, but all read and averted their eyes. It was written on a blank face of the cliff. First, there was an arrow, pointing ahead, and then the words: SHADE, SO'S YOU DON'T GIT SUNSTROK.

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