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Late in the evening right at sundown, Martha sat on the porch rocking back and forth. She was looking across a field of feed grain at the tree lined river several hundred yards away. As crickets chirped and birds sang their last songs of the day, her mind went back to when her husband was alive.

The squeak of the rocker on the wooden porch was a sound she loved. A forty four rifle stood on end within easy reach. If that rifle had been close at hand on that terrible night, Dan might be alive today. She would never be very far from it again.

Six riders had come up as she and Dan walked out on the porch after eating a wonderful supper. With guns in hand one man hollered, “Yore two weeks is up Camden!”

Dan had been shot dead and she lay still in a pool of her own blood. The children, Neil and baby June had saved her life. June staying by her side as Neil saddled a horse and rode four miles bringing back the doctor. Lord that seemed so long ago, but the two years since had pasted very fast.

She was well and strong enough to go looking for those six men and kill every one of them and the man that sent them. Her gear was packed, she would want for nothing.

Her foreman Frank Combs and his wife would stay in the house and look after the children. This is something she swore must be done to ever have peace of mind.








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