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We wave goodbye and head for the car. we giggle like school k**s and i grab your ass cheek and rub a sly finger over your pussy as you bend into the car..we've only got a few miles down the road and i lean my hand across and rub you leg all the way up your leg !i feel you opening your leg alittle and i oblige by rubbing your pussy a little, i know your only teasing me but i cant resist it i feel the moisture through your thin dress , i wipe my forehead and get the smell of pussy off my hand , the unmistakable smell of pussy juice. you giggle and say see what you did to me lol.its a warm night but pitch dark with only the moonlight lighting the road , then we see car lights ahead. its a broken down car . i want to drive on but you make me stop . its a girl who got into car trouble and broke down., i offer to drop her off although i want to leave her there , my cock is still semi hard and i can feel my precum leaking form my cock head.where are you staying you ask ,and the girl says. Since she had almost forty rounds, she decided to test it out in the corral and used the scarecrow as her target. She aimed at the scarecrow's head and the first shot went right into the scarecrow's gut. It was not the result she was looking for but after a little thought, she realized it was probably because she was trying to use the same method she was used to from firing the Winchester. All she had to do was aim for the head and she would wind up gut-shooting the bad guy and if she wanted to just wing him in one of his legs just aim for his belly. Besides, head shots were for back-shooters with lots of time to let their lead fly.Running Eagle was busy working on the fence. One of the boys was always with him on the lookout for riders because the hired guns had a reputation of bushwhacking any target of opportunity working the land. The Indian wasn't much one for the use of firearms and he knew the ludicrous nature of confronting rifle-toting white men with a bow and an arrow. Any.
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People aged quickly in those days, and they wore their sorrow in lines on their faces. In his lap, lay a boy in his late teens. He was skeletal, [dying] with skin that stretched over his jutting bones like canvas. The older man held the boy to his chest, cradling him in his arms. They might have been father and son. The boy was shaking violently with fever, and his chest was heaving with slow, labored breaths. [dying] It was the smoke, the man thought. He’s always had asthma as a kid, and now he just couldn’t breathe the smoke any longer. [dying] That word that no one said anymore had been clawing its way to the front of his mind for a few days now. He traced his fingers across the boy’s tear-streaked face. His eyes were closed, as they usually were these days, and his face was hot to the touch. [dying] There was no other version of the truth. He registered a hand on his shoulder. ‘When he… Passes, [dies] you know what we have to do.’ ‘You’re not going to touch him. You’re not going.

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