The Hard Rain
The snow didn't stop for three days. It just kept falling, white and indifferent, covering the Kansas prairie like a shroud. Jack McCall sat in his cabin and drank whiskey that tasted like it had been distilled in a bucket. The bucket metaphor was accurate. It had been distilled in a bucket. By Old Pete, who claimed it was "corn whiskey" but nobody in Kansas Territory called it anything other...
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