“He’s got a rifle.”
“I see that too.”
The rifle rested beside the saddle.
Eleanor moved another half step in front of the wagon.
The rider finally stopped twenty yards away.
Dust settled around his horse’s legs.
He was perhaps forty, lean and broad-shouldered beneath a charcoal coat whitened by trail dust. Dark stubble covered his jaw. His hat shadowed most of his face, but Eleanor could see his eyes.
They did not move first to her.
They moved to the children.
Then to Oliver.
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