He had never expected to see anything more awful than the buzzard-torn bodies they had buried that morning, and yet it was still the same day and already there was a worse sight. He hated night travel, and it would be worse afoot. He could sleep--he had the knack of going in and out of sleep easily and quickly--but despite the long night and day he wasn't sleepy. He felt he might be sick.
The smallseeming cowman kicked Dixon so hard in the face that it seemed his head would fly off. She just hooked the horse. I ain't that harsh with children. It was like heavy work, it was so hard.
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