"Hold that man, Welt. I want to talk to him." He walked his horse slowly through the water, keeping to the side where it was not more than stirrup-deep, and rode to where Jessica stood. Her face was very pale, her eyes unnaturally large.
"You came to a rough country, Jessica," he said.
She looked up at him, holding up her skirt in one hand. "My man was here," she said simply.
(from Matagorda, by Louis L'Amour)
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