Explore "Lonesome Dove, Volume 1" by Larry McMurtry on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
DOG FACE WAS DYING, and he knew it. A bullet had hit a rib and turned downward into his gut. The bullet hadn't come out, and nobody was trying to get it out, either. He lay on a saddle blanket in his death sweat, and all Blue Duck wanted to know was how many men there had been in the party that shot him.
"Three horses," one of the Kiowas said, but Dog Face couldn't remember if it had been two or three.