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Chaffee rode into Roaring Horse slowly. It was growing dark and Woolfridge's men were staked out everywhere-along the streets, behind the stores and saloons, in the back alleys. Their orders were to kill Chaffee, to gun him down, shoot him in the back.
And the town of Roaring Horse waited quietly, helplessly, for the death of the only man who could save them.
A shot split the air and whistled past Chaffee's head. He was out of the saddle, crouching and shooting as he ran.
