Danny had not returned during the night, and we looked at the empty bunk, but no comment was made. Each of us at one time or another had found such empty bunks in the morning; sometimes a horse returned with a bloody saddle, sometimes nothing.
It was a hard life we lived and a hard land in which we lived it and there was no time for mourning when work had to be done.
There would be one man less to do the work. And one man less at the table, one horse less to be saddled in the morning.
(from The Man From the Broken Hills, by Lois L'Amour)
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