It might spook them a little. The insolence of the look was so great that for a moment Jake contemplated gunplay. Dead, Clara said. I guess that explains it.
It was looking like rain again. Most seemed old and dusty, but one, a patch of shiny black hair, was still crusted with blood. Being a neighborly man, he had ridden over to see who had died, and the people had all stopped, stricken, for they were burying his wife. Her mare had gotten used to the travel too and no longer looked back toward Lonesome Dove.
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