“. . exactly where Frank had intended the .45-caliber slug to strike. Ned lost his grip on his pistol. The marshal was in the center of the street before Ned could grab his pistol. He kicked the gun away. “It’s over, mister,” the marshal told him. “The Drifter let you live. Be thankful for that and let it go.” “I’ll kill him someday!” “You’re a fool.” Jeff led the horses outside and Frank mounted up. Dog was in his pouch on the side of the pack animal, only his head poking out of the pouch, safe... and comfortable, taking in all the sights. “I’ll kill you someday, Drifter!” Ned hollered. Frank ignored the threat and lifted a hand in farewell to the marshal. “Good luck, Drifter,” the marshal called. “I need me a doctor!” Ned hollered. “And get me somebody ’sides that damn quack that fumbled around and let Phil die. You hear me? I’m gonna kill you, Morgan!” he shouted. “Damn you! That there’s a promise. You can count on it.” Frank and Jeff rode out of town without looking back.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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