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Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re


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Posted by next paragraph needed... on February 26, 2004 at 09:59:18 from (152.163.252.99):

In Reply to: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: in posted by next paragraph needed.... on February 26, 2004 at 09:40:39:

corrected:
It was clear from the gathering storm clouds that a gully washer was on the way. Thunder rumbled off in the distance and the wind sent tumbleweeds darting across the prairie like outlaws escaping from a posse. Rutt Mason automatically pulled his neckerchief up to cover his nose and mouth in an effort to proect his lungs from the swirling dust. Kicking his horse up to a trot, he set about looking for a place to weather the storm. (Cindi)

The old mutt dog with matted fur that had been with him for about two years, fell behind his horse to follow. He wasn't much to look at, but he was a good companion and friend and in Rutt’s line of work, companionship and friendship were very scarce. (Gene)

Up ahead he saw something. Upon approaching, he found an abandoned sod house. Probably some previous settler run off by the drought, or indians, or the generally hard life out on the prairie. For whatever reason it was there, it fit his immediate need. He tied his horse where he was best sheltered from the wind, and took his meager belongings in to set up temporary "housekeeping". At least he and "Dawg" would have some protection from the elements. (Newgen)

Being in an honest to God house (however meager)kind of made Rutt a little homesick. As it was he rarley had a chance to speak out loud, unless it was to Dawg or to curse himself for doing something stupid, and even though the house was void of life except for him and Dawg, it held eerie remanant traces of the lives that had lived in it before. Hooks hanging from the ceiling beams spoke to cooking pots that had been used over the open fire place to fill bellies and warm cold bodies. (Cindi)

The inside of the old "soddie" was very dirty and cobwebbs hung from every protrussion. It was clear that it hadn't been used in some time, but it would keep them dry and out of the wind. He managed to scrounge up a little wood left by someone who was now long gone, and built a small
fire so he and Dawg could stay warm. He then shared a piece of beef jerky with his only friend and settled back on the old dirty cot, lit his pipe and let his mind drift away on the things that he had to do tomorrow (Gene)

The storm wasn't long in coming and needed little fanfare - a sharp clap of thunder echoed thru the skies and they just opened up. In seconds it was pouring, the horse skittered near the shack as raindrops bounced off his shiny rump and ran down his flanks. Rutt had lugged the saddle inside, and of course the rain found the first leak, which naturally tried to tap dust from the saddle, which rousted Dawg to scoot over next to Rutt. Dawg hated moving so he nipped the gritty hand that swung to settle him. Then without warning ---- (Deadcarp)

The dog began to growl low in his throat. A low rumbling vibration that Rutt could feel as well as hear. The rain was lashing the little sod house and thunder was literally shaking the frame. Drops of water found their way through the roof making a steady tap tap on the dirt floor and Rutt knew that Dawg could hear nothing above the din of the weather, which meant that he was reacting to a scent, and the only thing Dawg had ever reacted this way to smell-wise, was indians. He slipped his pistol from the holster and....(Cindi)

....felt in his pocket for the gold star that showed that he was a US Marshall. Although he
never wore it where it could be seen, because a few people would love to see it on the open range and make a target of it. He fondled it for a second and though comforting, he knew it would be no defence against Indians. (Gene)

He was as ready as he'd ever be. His pistol would be little use against a war party. He had hoped to come upon the Indians before they found him. He had been tracking them for so long, hoping against hope that this was the tribe that had his daughter. (Rich)

He'd given up everything in search for his child. His job, friends, and almost his sanity. He still hated himself for leaving Beth and Melanie alone while he went off in search of a useless horse thief. He'd been gone less than three days when a band of renegades swept down on his modest house, burned it to the ground, killed his wife and stole his eight year old daughter. With his pistol drawn, one arm around Dawg's neck and his pipe forgotten on the dirt floor beside him, Rutt leaned forward expectantly. He didn't care if the face that showed itself at the door was connected to the he11 that had been perpetrated on his family or not. He aimed to shoot to kill and...(Cindi)

....as the lightning flashed and brightened the night sky he looked thru a small opening. As he moved ever so slightly, Dawg moved with him.

"Thanks for the support buddy, but you ain't gonna be much help."

As he peered out thru the opening, he was taking aback for he saw... (sdg)

time's up at 1:00



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