A bullet entered each chest, and that was the end of those two Indians.The woman fell to the floor of the buckboard and burst into tears. The wounded,...but not dead, Comanches who had been shot by the buckshot had ridden off while I was taking care of the two molesting the woman. I didn't know where they went, but I didn't really care; nevertheless, I was not about to let my guard down.The woman continued to cry while I reloaded my weapons. When that was done, I moved from my horse to the. Then she heard it. Off in the woods, on a bench she had never seen, or at least never noticed, and truth be told she’s never seen again, though every June 22nd she looks, there was a man, strumming a guitar. He was looking at her, intermittently, but mostly just eyeing his guitar. She shifted her ass on the swing again, this time with intent. She was desperate now to come. With effort, she could make out the words he was singing: A summer wind, a cotton dress This is how I remember you best A. More

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