The Pale Tale
The freezing rain had turned the Montana line into a gray smear, blurring the distinction between the mud and the frozen earth. Elias Thorne stood with his hand on his holster, the cold seeping through his jacket to his bone. "Get out of the truck, Julian," he said, his voice flat and hard as the ice forming on the windshield. "Hand over the cattle. Now." The cab door opened, and a boy of...
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