Dusk was beginning to fall as he worked his way down the face of the ridge. Daylight would soon be gone as could be seen by the lengthening shadows of the surrounding trees. He had to make it to at least the bank of the river before dark. And treacherous as the improvised path is down the face, he could not chance trying to negotiate it in the dark. The feel of the heavy bladed bowie in his belt gave him comfort as he moved. More than once it had saved his hide. Events of the past couple of months still populated his thoughts. Alone in the high lonesome with only his horse and two pack mules for company, his only thought at the time was to secure fresh meat for the coming winter then light a shuck for home. Extenuating circumstances prevented him from going and returning any sooner. Planning for the unexpected had always served him graciously in the
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