Sometimes in the long silent nights she felt she must be going crazy to think about such things, in such a way. The damn fight was over here. I can crack a drunk on the head and get him to jail, but I ain't really a good fighter. Clara kept on planting anyway, hiding the flowers in the most protected spots she could find.
His head was throbbing. This ain't much of a town if things like that can happen and the deputy just sit there. He certainly didn't consider himself a killer: in battle, Call and Gus were capable of killing ten to his one. You don't want to hit it in the dark.
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