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Weekly Contest #342
Colton had always admired Martha Graves, although he had never once told her so. From the gunpowder she loaded into her rifle to the Coronilla she picked and slid into her satchel when nobody was looking, she did everything with such care and precision. To her, everything was precious. He didn't understand it, but somehow, it made her all the more ethereal. He rocked back on his heels, his hand on the butt of his pistol as he stood in the front of the tent. Yes, everything was precious, but it was the most precious things that were the first...
Martha sat in the crevice of the mountain, the shade a rare treat on her days in the summer sun. She loaded her rifle slowly, her eyes scanning for the wagon set to roll down this valley any minute now. Once they did, she would find her and her gang rich enough to live in the laps of luxury for at least a month. She could smell the gun powder that one of her men had set up from here, strong in the slight breeze. She hoped it wouldn't drift down when the time came. Over the high rocks of the ridge above, Colton aimed his rifle down at the val...
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