by John Benteen
By the time Sundance had dropped down the riverbank, stood for a moment staring down at Ransome’s corpse with a face like stone, and then had gathered up the packets of green bills that had slipped from Ransome’s pocket, the livery horse had freed itself from its harness. When Sundance rode on swiftly, keeping to the narrow current to hide Eagle’s tracks, the other horse was calm again and, unhurt, scrambled up the bank to crop the green grass that grew along the river’s edge.
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