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GRANDMOTHER’S UNCLE by Brenda Black White He chose his fate, holding up the stagecoach that carried payroll. He was left in the desert to die an ignoble death— bullet through the gut, his horse shot from under him. The parched sand’s only moisture was the pool of blood he lay upon. Later, his bones were found, dry and white— bleached by the sun, after the flesh was stripped by wolves and vultures, the only meal they’d had in days. 237 Tony Clark ...

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