“I’ll bury you there.”
“Thanks.”
The filthy maelstrom inhaled the sky and the ground.
The Danfords withdrew handkerchiefs from their pockets and tied them over their noses and mouths. Their fingers pulled the leather cords of their hats securely beneath their chins.
Presently, the brothers snatched up their rifles, pressed the stocks deeply into their armpits, and aimed the barrels at the column. Less than fifty yards separated the duo from the roiling wall of grit. Rapidly, this distance diminished.
Oswell felt the rumble of hooves in his stomach.
The prow of the dust storm struck the Danfords. They tilted their heads down, using the brims of their hats and the butts of their guns to shield their eyes. A dark horizontal shape flickered past.
“No rider,” said Godfrey.
The brothers
