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Roylsden #350

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Clint didn't move. The muscles in his back throbbed and ached almost as if the barrel of Zeke's gun was pushed hard into his backbone, but he forced himself to stand motionless, an easy target if Zeke lost his cool - or if his trigger-finger quivered.
He recalled the time at Old Ma Cody's when Zeke had held them at gunpoint. He hadn't pulled the trigger then; maybe he wouldn't this time, either.
Sheriff Cole spoke quietly "Clint, come here, son. Just move, slowly." Anna's eyes begged him move.
But Clint was having none of it. An idea was developing.

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