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Your Rifle Is Damp, the Caps Are Down to Eleven, and Dinner Is Standing Three Hundred Yards Away
Published 3 weeks, 1 day ago
Description
You wake up because the hammer won’t fall. October, 1845. You are camped beside the Platte, three days east of Fort Laramie, in a country of low gray sage and buffalo grass that rustles all night like paper. The cold has gotten into your Hawken overnight. When you cock the hammer and squeeze, you get […]