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was straight and uneven and seemed the color of some rich, polished wood. His jaw was thick and broad, and his neck had the heavy contours of a weightlifter's. He wore a fringed buckskin jacket and brown pants that reached to the tops of his moccasins, and in his arms he cradled a long-barreled Pennsylvania rifle. |
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Behind her, she heard the loud footfalls of the men. |
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"You might as well halt, Miss Walker," taunted John. "We will catch you." |
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"We're traders." Samuel's voice held a frightening laugh. "There's an Indian we've dealt with. He likes women with light hair; you'll bring a lot of pelts." |
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Mariah winced. "Please," she said to the man she thought of as Thorn. "I need your help." |
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In the shadows, she couldn't make out the color of his eyes, but she could see them staring at her piercingly. His narrow lips were a tight, angry slash across his face. He didn't move. |
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Recalling in desperation the words in the screenplay that Matilda had used to galvanize the Thorn character into action, she cried in desperation, "I'm relying on you!" |
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"No one," said the man in a deep, gravelly voice, "should rely on me." He turned away and began to walk back into the forest. |
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