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The desert sun scorches your back as spurs jangle against thirsty earth. Hoofbeats thunder—yours or theirs? No time to wonder. A rattler coils in the dust ahead; you vault sideways, hat brim grazing its fangs. Cacti claw at your duster like bony fingers. Dynamite crates litter the trail—one misstep and the canyon becomes your grave. Shadows twist into rival riders, guns blazing. You crouch low, reins sawing against calloused palms. The finish line’s golden trophy glints beyond a hail of bullets and whiskey-drunk laughter. Glory’s close enough to taste—sagebrush and blood. Dig your heels in. Let the vultures wait. Ride.
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