She was old now, and tired. The long, wakeful nights left her trembling, yet she was not afraid. When they came after her in the end she hoped but for one thing, that she would awaken in time to get off a shot. Nothing had frightened her in the old days, but then Pa had always been close by, and now Pa was gone.
Slowly her tired muscles relaxed. Thunder rumbled out there, and the heat lightning showed brief flashes through the cracks of the shutters. She must take another look soon. In a little while.
Her eyes closed . . . only for a minute, she told herself, only for one brief, wonderful minute.
(from Ride the Dark Trail, by Louis L'Amour)
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