Once, drinking at a creek that was barely a trickle, the hand she was bracing herself with slipped and she got mud on her nose. Think I'm rough, Gus? she asked with a smile. No sense in leaving good mules. He went off the bank too fast and the buggy crashed against a big rock at the water's edge.
You better tie them three, he said. Then she would feel less frightened. They came on foot, Captain, he said. Clara paused a moment, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her shirttail.
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