They followed his trail for three hours before reaching the desert, a no-man’s
land of little more than rock, sand and rattlesnakes, tracks heading out into
the middle of it. Squinting into the hazy sun, Call said, “Ain’t no hurry. One of
you men go back for extra canteens of water.” Dub got the extra water and they
set off into the desert. Couple of hours riding, they found him neck deep in
the sand, dead. Apache style, lips like cut up sausage.
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