Thursday, July 13, 2017

Bootleather.

The hold-up had went bad.  The money and our dynamite was gone.  Jodie dead.  Ted B.

So I was on foot, walking through the desert after the horse went down.

Someone in the hills kept flashing me in the eyes with a mirror or something shiny.  Probably one of those sorry-ass injuns, half-drunk.  Couldn't see sh*t off that.

Stumbled over a rattler.  Felt the tips of its fangs.  Luckily, my boot leather took the bite.  I felt the cold venom shooting down my leg, dampening my pants leg too.

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