He had a large knife strapped to one leg and carried a rifle lightly across the pommel of his saddle. It raised no feelings of tenderness in her, just a feeling of disgust at the cruelties of existence. But the thought made him sleepy, and with one more look of regret at the dead boy who hadn't understood that he meant no harm, he carefully lay down on his side. He lay awake all night with his head on his saddle, thinking of Lorie--not sleeping, nor even wanting to.
Big Zwey sat and looked at her through the campfire, and Luke looked, too, while he talked. Or he should have shot me. The stump was only partly out--quite a few of its thick roots were still running into the ground. Get down and drink a cup of coffee to cut the grief, Augustus said.
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