The Faded Frontier
The rain tasted of iron. It fell on the wagon wheels. It slicked the mud. The mud was black. The mud was deep. Caleb held the reins. His hands shook. The leather bit into his palms. He did not let go. He could not let go. If he let go, the horses would run. If the horses ran, the gold would spill. If the gold spilled, he would die. "Easy, boys," he whispered. The horses snorted. Steam rose from...
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