And Death did ride the Front on invisible wings, with the hot breath of doom falling upon the luckless!

Death does not ride with me in my big motor, did you not hear the roar of its great belly?

Death and destruction rode with him, and desolation followed in his wake.

Death rode the dry trails of Texas, and the border was now a haunted place where no man knew what tomorrow might bring.

Death rode at his shoulder, and yet she waited ahead, too.

Death rode with him on the night wind, and he felt pride in carrying it.

Death was riding at my heels these days, and I didn't want to charm it to me by thinking of it.

Death rode toward me from every direction.

Death now rode behind the army, instead of in front.

Her grandmother had told her that Death rode a dark horse.