Several of the ranchers present expressed relief that the Affiliation’s emissaries were so young. “There are a dozen at Hanging Rock, guarding the tankers your men have brought so far,” Latigo said. He heard her, but not until she was almost on top of him—if she’d been an enemy instead of a friend, he might still have had time to draw and fire, but it would have been close. “Aye,” Sheemie added suddenly.
“No,” he had said simply. And what does it matter? They’ve moved what they don’t want us to count. It wasn’t just the unexpectedness of the voice; it was the coldness of it. Some of the riders fifty or sixty yards back from the jog had even been able to turn their horses.
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