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the wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight, drunk and driven by a devil's hunger
drive your son like a railroad spike into the water, let it pull him under
don't you lift him, let him drown alive
the good Lord speaks like a rolling thunder
let that fever make the water rise, and let the river run dry
drive your son like a railroad spike into the water, let it pull him under
don't you lift him, let him drown alive
the good Lord speaks like a rolling thunder
let that fever make the water rise, and let the river run dry
Colt Kelly is a rancher and whiskey miller from a long line of them, sitting high on a pile of riches built from the ground up when the Kelly properties, Chêne Cassé Ranch et Distillerie (△), were founded from nothing. Just close enough to New Versailles to venture there in the evenings for something stout to drink, Colt rides a big red truck here and there—some say he looks for trouble with a lopsided little-boy grin and a gleam in his eye. Others say he's just scouting for the best place to put down his whiskey mill's next roots. Others just plain don't care what he's doing. He's just a rancher, after all.

Most of the time Colt is personable with a big, dimpled smile to shine on a stranger, especially when he's looking for a drink—maybe a sweet-smelling pair of arms to rest in for the night. Some strangers know him to be hard-hearted and pragmatic in all his dealings, but they've never done business with the youngest of the Kelly lineage.
Some hooks!



