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Roylsden #137


The arms of the shadow moved, its right arm positioning whatever it carried so that it was held diagonally across its body. To the right of the shadow's waist, a thicker silhouette evidenced what could have been a rifle butt; to the left, at the shadow's shoulder, a thinner rifle barrel pointed along the ground.
Clint pulled himself up to his knees, waves of paresthesia like a weird electricity powered through his numb legs.
"You allas bin welcome here, Zeke McGinley," said Old Ma Cody from behind a bewildered Clint, "Aint nothin' bin done that's changed that, boy. Come in."

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