The Nebraska Kid slid a jumpy glance over the trail ahead. He saw nothing except the tracks of four men who had preceded him; he knew these men were the Morgan riders. He settled back, his knees tightening against the roan's flanks, his muscles tensed for any sudden moves by the big stud. But a cold foreboding made him twist and look back down that empty pass. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and turned around. It took him a long moment to register what he saw. It can't be, he thought, his mind locked and his body rigid . . .
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