A few days, maybe, if we go after the horsethieves that shot him. It was a beautiful sunny day and he was alive to see it. He was riding the Hell Bitch and leading Greasy, the big mule that had come with them all the way from Texas, and a rangy dun named Jerry, the mount he preferred after the Hell Bitch. It was like he was a spook.
How would you know? she asked. Fortunately the man was not a par ticularly good shot--many of the bullets sang overhead, though one or two hit his saddle and ricocheted. When Elmira was annoyed she made him so nervous that he couldn't really remember whether he had eaten, or what. Her ample bosom seemed to Newt to be about to burst out of the gown she wore.
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