Rusted rims of wagon wheels, the solid oak of a hub, scattered bolts and charred wood. It was not much for a man to leave behind.
Fuentes indicated the bones. "You and me, amigo . . . sometime."
"I'm like the Irishman, Fuentes. If I knew where I was going to die, I'd never go near the place."
"To die is nothing. One is here, one is no longer here. It is only that at the end one must be able to say, 'I was a man.'"
(from The Man From the Broken Hills, by Louis L'Amour)
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