As gunfire boomed overhead, lead flying every which way, Mississippi grabbed he money sacks, jamming them into Butch’s saddlebags. His own horse was a step or two away —- too far to worry with the cash. He could be shot down in that distance. He gave Butch’s horse a hard slap on the rump. The mare leaped forward, then took off running. Mississippi jumped into his saddle and sank spurs. How had he gotten roped into riding with the greedy, bloodthirsty gang? If he ever saw an out, he’d damn sure take it.
J.B. Richard 
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