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Updated: June 28, 2025
The volley from the cotton-woods had swept over Prather's head at the instant that he had taken hold of his rifle. It dropped from his grasp. He burrowed in the sand under the pressure of that near and sinister rush of singing breaths. "I can't! I can't!" he said helplessly. He was leaden flesh, without the power to move.
Father does not like to think that any other man was ever quite as great as he is. I confess that is the way I feel, too. That is what life is, after all it is yourself. Yes, I saw the store as mine surely mine, with time!" Prather's reins lay across the pommel of the saddle drawn taut by the drooping head of his horse, which was barely dragging one foot after another.
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