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Cheyenne Wells record. (Cheyenne Wells, Cheyenne County, Colo.) 1???-1969, November 09, 1922, Image 2

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The Strength of the Pines
THE KILLER AQAINI
6YNOPSIB.—At the death of his
foster father. Bruce Duncan. In an
eastern city, receives a mysterious
message, sent by a Mrs. Boss, sum
moning him peremptorily to south
ern Oregon—to meet "Linda.”
Bruce has vivid but baffling recol
lections of his childhood In ata or
phanage, before hia adoption by
Newton Duncan, with the girl Lin
da. At his destination. Trail's End.
news that a message has been sent
to Bruce is received with marked
displeasure by a man Introduced
to the reader as "Pinion.” Leaving
the train. Bruce is astonished at
his apparent familiarity with the
surroundings, though to his knowl
edge he has never been there.
On the way, ••Simon” warns him
to give up his quest and return
East. Bruce refuses. Mrs. Ross,
aged and infirm, welcomes him
with emotion. She hastens him on
his way—the end of "Plne-Nbedle
Trail.” Bruce finds his childhood
playmate. Linda. The girl tells him
of wrongs committed by an enemy
clan on her family, the Rosses.
Lands occupied by the clan were
stolen from the Rosses, and the
family, with the exception of Aunt
Elmira (Mrs. Ross) and herself,
wiped out by assassination. Bruce’s
father. Matthew Polger, was one of
the victims. His mother had fled
with Bruce and Linda. The girl,
while small, had been kidnaped
from the orphanage and brought
to the mountains. Linda's father
bad deeded his lands to Matthow
Folger. but the agreement, which
would confute the enemy’s claims
to the property, had been lost.
Bruce's mountain blood responds to
the call of the blood-feud. A giant
tree, the Sentinel Pine. In front
f Linda's cabin, seems to Bruce’s
excited imagination to be endeav
oring to convey a message. Bruce
sets out In search of a trapper
named Hudson, a witness to the
agreement between Linda’s father
and Matthew Folger. A gigantic
arlcsly. known as the Killer. Is the
terror of the vicinity.
CHAPTER XIV
••5
Simon Turner had given Dnve very
definite instructions concerning his
embassy to Hudson. “The first thing
this Bruce will do." Simon hod sold,
“Is to hunt up Hudson —the one living
man that witnessed that agreement
between Ross and old Folger. One
reason Is that he’ll want to verify
Llndu’s story. The nest Is to per
suade the old man to go down to the
courts with him as Ids witness. And
what you have to do is line him up
for our side first."
"You think—" Dove’s eyes wan
dered about the room, "you think
that's the host way?"
"I wouldn’t he tollin’ you to do It
If I didn’t think so." Simon laughed—
a sudden, grim syllable. "Duve, you’re
a bloodthirsty devil. I see what you’re
thinking of—of a safer way to keep
him from telling. But you know the
word I sent out. ‘Go easy!' That’s
the wisest course to follow at present.
The valley people pay more attention
to such things than they used to; the
fewer the killings, the wiser we will
be. Tf lie’ll keep quiet for the hun
dred let him have It In pence.”
Dave hadn't forgotten. But his fea
tures were sharper and more rntllke
than ever when he come In sight of
Hudson’s camp. Just after the fall of
darkness of the second day out. The
trapper was cooking his simple meal—
a blue grouse frying In his skillet,
coffee boiling, and flapjack batter
ready for the moment the grouse was
done. Dave's thoughts returned to
the hundred dollars In his pocket—a
good sum In the hills. A brass rifle
cartridge, such ns he could fire In
the thirty-thirty that he carried In the
hollow of his arm, cost only about six
cents. The net gain would he—the
figures flew quickly through his mind—
ninety-nine dollars and ninety-four
cents; quite a good piece of business
for Dnve. But the trouble was that
Simon might find out. The word had
gone out, for the present at least, to
"go easy." Such little games ns oc
curred to Dave now —as he watched
the trapper In the firelight with one
hundred doll irs of the clan's money
A his own pofket—had been prohibit
ed until further notice.
The thing looked so simple thnt
Dave squirmed nil over with annoy
ance. It hurt him to think that the
hundred dollars thnt he carried was
to he passed over, without a wink of
an eye, to this bearded trapper; and
the only return for It was to be a
promise that Hudson would not tes
tify In Bruce’s behalf. And a hundred
dollars was real money! Just a little
matter of a single glance down his
rifle barrel at the figure In the silhou
ette of the fire glow—and a half-ounce
of pressure on the hair trigger. Half
jesting with himself, he dropped on
one knee and raised the weapon. The
trapper did not guess Ills presence.
The blood leaped In Dave’s veins.
But he caught himself with a
wrench. He realized that Simon had
spoken true when lie said that the old
days were gone, thnt the arm of the
law reached farther tlmn formerly,
•ml It might even stretch to this far
place. He remembered Simon's in
structions. “The quieter we can do
these things, the better,” the clan
leader had said. “If we can get
through to October thirtieth with no
killings, the safer It Is for us. Go
easy, Dave. Sound this Hudson out
If he'll keep still for a hundred, let
him have It In peace."
Dave slipped his rifle Into the hol
low of his arm and continued on down
the trail. He didn’t try to stalk. In
•a moment Hudson heard his step and
looked up Thojr met In a circle of
firelight
It Is not the mountain way to frater
nise quickly, nor are the mountain
men qtflck to show astonishment.
Hudson had not seen another human
being since his Inst visit to the settle
ments. Yet his voice indicated no
surprise at this vlsltution.
“Howdy,” he grunted.
“Howdy,” Dave replied. “How about
grub?”
“Help yourself. Supper Just ready."
Dave helped himself to the food of
the man that, a moment before, he
would have slain; and in the light of
the high Are that followed the meal,
he got down to- the real business of
the visit.
“I suppose you’ve forgotten that
little deed you witnessed between old
Mat Folger and Ross —twenty years
ago,” Dave began easily, his pipe be
tween his teeth.
Hudson turned with a cunning glit
ter in his eyes. Dave saw it and
grew bolder. “Who wunts iue to for
get it?” Hudson demanded.
“I ain’t said that anybody wants
you to," Dave responded. “I asked
you If you had.”
Hudson was still a moment, strok
ing absently his beard. “If you want
to know,” he said, “I ain’t forgotten.
But there wasn’t Just a deed. There
was on agreement, too.”
“I know all about that agreement,”
Dave confessed.
“You do, eh? So do I. I ain’t likely
to forget.”
Dave studied him closely. “What
good is It going to do you to remem
ber?" he demanded.
“I ain’t saying that it’s going, to do
me any good. At present I uln’t got
nothing against the Turners. They’ve
always been all right to me. What’s
between them and the Rosses is past
and done—although I know just in
what way Folger held that land and
no transfer from him to you was le
gal. But that’s all part of the past.
As long as the Turners continue to be
iny friends I don’t see why unything
should be said about it.”
Dave speculated. It was wholly
plain that the old man had not yet
heard of Bruce’s return. There was
no need to mention him. “We’re glad
you are our friend,” Dave went on.
“But we don’t expect no one to stay
friends with us unless they benefit to
some small extent* by It. How many
furs do you hope to take this year?"
“Not enough to pay to pack out.
Maybe two hundred dollars in bount
ies before New Year—coyotes and
wolves.”
“Then maybe fifty or seventy-five
dollars, without bothering to set the
traps, wouldn't come in so bad."
“It wouldn’t come in had, but It
doesn't buy much these days. A hun
dred would he better."
“A hundred It Is,” Dave told him
with finality.
The eyes above the dark beard
shone in the firelight. The money
changed hands. They sat a long time,
deep in their own thoughts.
“All we ask,” Dave said, "Is that
you don't take sides against us."
"I’ll remember. Of course you want
me. In case I’m ever subpoenaed, to re
call signing the deed Itself.”
“Yes, we’d want you to testify to
that.”
"Of course."
They chuckled together In the dark
ness. Then they turned to the blan
kets.
"I’ll show you another trull out to
morrow.” Hudson told him. "It comes
Dave Helped Himself to the Food of
the Man That, a Moment Before, He
Would Have Slain.
Into the glen that you passed to
night—the canyon that the Killer has
been using lately for a hunting
ground.”
CHAPTER XV
The Killer had had an unsuccessful
night. He had waited the long hours
through at the month of the trail, but
only the Little People-such as the
rabbits and similar folk that hardly
constituted a single bite in his great
Jaws —had come his way. Now it was
morning and It looked as If he would
have to go hungry. , He started to
stretch his great muscles, intending to
laave his ambush. But all at once
riTTT.VTTNNE WELLS BEOOKP
By EDISON MARSHALL
Author of “The Voice of the Pack*
he froze again into a lifeless gray
patch In the thickets. There were
light steps on the trail. Again they
were the steps of deer —but not of the
grout, wary elk tills time. Insteud it
was just a fawn, or a yearling doe at
least, such a creature as had not yet
learned to suspect every turn in the
trail. The forest gods had been good
to him, after all.
He peered through the thickets, and
in a moment more he had a glimpse of
the spotted skin. It was almost too
easy. But even ns the Killer watched,
the prize was simply taken out of his
mouth. A gray wolf—a savage old
male that also hud Just finished an
unsuccessful hunt —hud been stealing
through the thickets in seurcli of a
lair, and he cume out on the trail not
fifty feet distant, halfway between the
hear and the fawn. The one was al
most as surprised as the other. The
fawn turned with u frightened bleat
and darted away; the wolf swung into
pursuit.
The bear lunged forward with a
howl of rage. He leaped into the trull
mouth, then run as fast as lie could
in pursuit of the running wolf. He
was too enraged to stop to think that
a grizzly bear has never yet been able
to overtake a wolf, once the trim legs
got well into action. At first lie
couldn't think about anything; lie had
been cheated too many times. His
first impulse one of tremendous
and overpowering wrath—a fury that
meant denth to the first living crea
ture that he met.
But in a single second he realized
that this wild chase was fairly good
tactics, after all. The chances for a
meal were still rather good. The
fawn and the wolf were in tiie open
now, and it was wholly evident that
the gray hunter would overtake the
quarry in another moment. It was
true that the Killer would miss the
pleasure of slaying his own game—
the ecstatic blow to the shoulder and
the bite to the throat that followed it.
In tills case, the wolf would do that
part of the work for him. It was Just
a simple matter of driving the cren
ture away from his dead.
But at that instant fute took n hand
in the merry little clmse. To the
fawn. It was nothing but a sharp clang
of metal behind him and an answering
shriek of pain—sounds that In its
terror It heard but dimly. But it was
an unlooked-for and trugic reality to
the wolf. Ills leup wus suddenly ar
rested in mid-air, and he was hurled
to the ground with stunning force.
Cruel metal teeth had seized his leg.
and a strong chain held him when lie
tried to escape. He fought it with
desperate savagery. The fawn lenped
on to safety.
But there was no need of the grizzly
continuing Its pursuit. Everything had
turned out quite well for him. after
all. A wolf is ever so much more fill
ing than any kind of seasonul fawn;
and the old gray pack leader was im
prisoned and helpless in one of Hud
son’s traps.
• •• »*••••
In the first gray of morning, Dave
Turner started back toward his home.
‘Til go with you to the forks In the
trail," Hudson told him. “I want to
take a look at some of my traps, any
how.”
At the same hour —as soon ns it was
light enough to see —Bruce was finish
ing Ids breakfast In preparation for
the lust lap of tils Journey. He hud
passed the night by a spring on a long
ridge almost in eye range of Hudson's
camp. Now he was preparing to dip
down into the Killer's glen.
Turner and Hudson followed up the
little creek.
The first of Hudson’s sets proved
empty. The second was about a turn
In tiie creek, and a wall of brush made
it impossible for him to tell at a dis
tance whether or not lie had made a
catch. But when still a quarter of a
mile distant. Hudson heard a sound
that lie thought lie recognized. It was
a high, shurp, agonized bark that
dimmed into a low whine, "I believe
I’ve got a coyote or a wolf up there,"
he said. They hastened their steps.
The whole picture loomed suddenly
before their eyes. There was no wolf
in the trap. The steel had sprung,
certainly, but only a hideous fragment
of u foot remained between tiie JuwS.'
The bone hud been broken sharply
off, as a man might breuk u mutch in
his fingers. There was no living wolf.
Life had gone out of tiie gray body
many minutes before. The two men
suw ull these tilings us a background
only—dim details about tiie central
figure. But tiie thing that froze them
lu their trucks with terror was tiie
great, gray form of the Killer, not
twenty feet distant, beside the man
gled body of the wolf.
The events that followed thereafter
came in sucli quick succession as to
seem simultaneous. For one fraction
of an instant all three figures stood
motionless, the two men staring, the
grizzly half-leaning over his prey, his
nead turned, his little red eyes full of
hatred. He uttered one hoarse, sav
age note, a sound in which ull his
hatred and ills fury and his savage
power were made manifest, whirled
with Incredible speed, nnd charged.
Hudson did not even have time to
turn. There was no defense; his gun
was strapped on his back, and even
if it hod been in his hands, its bullet
would not Imve mattered the sting of
o hoc in honey-robbing. The only
'possible chance of breuking that dead
ly charge lay In the thirty-thirty deer
rifle in Dave's arms; but the craven
who held it did not even Are. He was
standing just below the outstretched
limit of a tree, and the weapon fell
from Ids hands as lie swung up Into
the limb. The fact that Hudson stood
weaponless, ten feet away in the clear
ing. 'lid not deter him In the least.
No human flesh could stand against
that charge. The vast paw fell with
resistless force; and no need arose for
a second blow. The trapper's body
was struck down as If felled by a
meteor, and the power of the impact
forced It deep Into the curpet of pine
needles. The savage creature turned,
the white fungs caught the light in the
open mouth. The head lunged toward
the man’s shoulder.
No man may say what agony Hud
son would have endured In the last
few seconds of his life If the Killer
had been given time and opportunity.
His usual way was to linger long,
sharp fangs closing again and again
until all living likeness was destroyed.
He Opened His Eyes and Looked With
Some Wonder Into Bruce's Face.
The blood lust was upon him; there
would have been no mercy to the dy
ing creature in the pine needles. Yet
it trunspired that Hudson’s flesh wus
not to know those rending fangs a
second time.
on the hillside above, a stranger to
this lund hud dropped to his knee In
the shrubbery, his rifle lifted to the
level of his eyes. It was Itruce, who
hud coine In time to see the charge
through u rift in the trees.
The bear wus on Hudson, and the
nmn hud gone down, before Bruce
even interpreted him. Then it wus
just a gray patch, u full three hundred
yurds uwuy. Ills instinct wus to throw
the gun to his shoulder und tire with
out aiming; yet he conquered it with
an iron will. But he did move quickly.
He dropped to his knee the very sec
ond that the gun leaped to his shoul
der. He seemed to know that from u
lower position the target would be
more clearly revealed. The linger
pressed back against the trigger.
The distance wus far; Bruce was
not a practiced rifle shot, und It bor
dered on the miraculous that his lend
went anywhere near the bear's body.
And it was true that the bullet did
not reach a vital place. It stung like
a wasp at the Killer’s flank, however,
cutting a shallow flesh wound. But It
wus enougli to take his dreadful atten
tion from the mortally wounded trap
per in tlie pine needles.
He whirled übout, growling furious
ly and biting at the wound. Then he
stood still, turning his gaze first to the
pale face of have Turner thirty feet
above him in the pine. The eyes glowed
in fury and hatred. He hud found
men out at last; they died even more
easily titan the fawn. He started to
turn buck to the fallen, and the rifle
spoke again.
It wus a complete miss, this time;
yet tlie beur leaped In four when the
bullet thwacked into the dust beside
him. He did not wait for u third. His
caution suddenly returning to him,
and perhups his anger somewhat sutl
uted by tlie blow he hud dealt Hudson,
he crashed into the security of the
thicket.
Bruce waited a single instant, hop
ing for another glimpse of the crea
ture; then ran down to aid Hudson.
But in driving the beur from the trap
per’s helpless hotly he had ulready
given all tlie uid that he could. Un
derstanding cume quickly. He hud
arrived only in time for the Depar
ture-just u glimpse of a light us It
faded. The blow had been more than
any huntun being could survive; even
now Hudson was entering upon thnt
strange calm which often, so merci
fully, immediately precedes death.
He opened his eyes and looked with
some wonder Into Bruce’s face. The
light in them was dimming, fading like
a twilight, yet there was indication of
neither confusion nor delirium.
There was, however, some indication
of perplexity at the peculiar turn af
fairs had taken. “You’re not Dave
Turner,” lie said wonderingly.
Dim though the voice was, there
was considerable emphasis in the tone.
Hudson seemed quite sure of this
point, whether or not he knew any
thing concerning the dark gates he
was about to enter. He wouldn’t have
spoken greatly different If he had
been sitting in perfect health before
his own camp fire and the shadow was
now already so deep his eyes could
scarcely penetrate It.
“No,” Bruce answered. “Dave Tur
ner is up a tree. He didn’t even wait
to shoot."
“Of course he wouldn’t.’ Hudson
spoke with assurance. The words
dimmed at the end, and he half-closed
his eyes as If he were too sleepy to
stay awake longer. Then Bruce saw
a strange thing. He saw, unmistak
able as the sun in the sky, the signs
of a curious struggle in the man’s
face.
The trapper —a moment before sink
ing into the calm of death —was fight
ing desperately for a few moments of
respite. There could be no other ex
planation. And he won it at last,
an interlude of hulf a dozen breaths.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
Bruce bowed ills head until his ear
was close to the lips. “Bruce Folger,”
he answered, —for the first time in his
knowledge speaking his full name.
“Son of Matthew Folger who lived ut
Trail’s End long ago.”
The man still struggled. “I knew
It,” he said. “I saw it—in your face. I
gGe —everything now. Listen —cun you
hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I just did a wrong—there’s a
hundred dollars in my pocket that I
Just got for doing it. I made a protn
lse—to lie to you. Take the money—
it ought to be yours, anyway—and
hers; and use it toward fighting the
wrong. It will go a little way.”
“Yes.” Bruce looked him full in the
eyes. “No matter about the money.
What did you promise Turner?”
“That I’d lie to you. Grip my arms
with your hands —till it hurts. I’ve
only got one breath more. Your fa
ther held those lands only in trust—the
Turners’ deed Is forged. And the
secret agreement that I witnessed Is
hidden —”
The breath seemed to go out of the
inun. Bruce shook Idm by the shoul
ders. Dave, still in the tree, strained
to hear the rest. “Yes —where?”
“It’s hidden —just—out—” The
words were no longer audible to Dnve,
and what followed Bruce also strained
to heur in vain. The lips ceased mov
ing. The shadow grew in the eyes,
und the lids flickered down over them.
A truveler had gone.
Bruce got up, a strange, cold light
In his eyes. He glanced up. Dave
Turner wus climbing slowly down the
tree. Bruce made six strides and
seized his rifle.
The effect on Dave was ludicrous.
He clung fast to the tree limbs, as if
he thought a bullet—like a grizzly’s
claws—could not reach him there.
Bruce luid the gun behind him, then
stood w’ulting with his own weupon
resting in ills arms.
“Come down, Duve,” he commanded.
“The bear is gone.”
Duve crept down the trunk and
huited at its base, lie studied the
cold face before him. “Better not try
nothing," he advised hoarsely.,
“Why not?” Bruce asked. “Do you
think I’m ufruid of u cowurd?” The
man sturted ut the words; his head
bobbed buckward us if Bruce hud
struck him beneuth the jaw with his
fist.
“I'eople don’t call the Turners cow
urds und walk off with it,” the man
told him.
“On, the lowest coward I” Bruce
said between set teeth. “The yellow
est, mongrel cowurd! Your own con
federate—and you had to drop your
gun und run up a tree. You might
huve stopped the bear’s charge."
Dave’s face twisted In u scowl.
“You’re brave enough now. Walt to
see what happens later. Give me my
gun. I’m going to go.”
“You cun go, but you don’t get your
gun. I’ll fill you full of leud if you
try to touch it.”
Dave looked up with some cure. He
wanted to know for certain If this
tenderfoot meant what he suld. The
man was blind in some things, his
vision was twisted and dark, but he
made no mistuke about the look on
the cold, set face before him. Bruce’s
finger was curled übout the trigger,
und it looked to Dave as if it Itched
to exert further pressure.
“I don’t see why I spare you, any
way,” Bruce went on. Ills tone was
self reproachful. “God knows I hudn’t
ought to—remembering who and what
you are. If you’d only give me one
little bit of provocation—”
Duve suw lurid lights growing in
the mun's eyes; and all at once a con
clusion came to him. He decided he c»
make no further effort to regain tne
gun. His life was rather precious to
him, strangely, and it was wholly
plain that u dread and terrible passion
was slowly creeping over his enemy,
lie could see it in the darkening face,
the tight grip of the hands on the rifle
stock. His own sharp features grew
more cunning. “You ought to be glad
I didn’t stop the bear with my rifle,”
he said hurriedly. “I had Hudson
bribed—you wouldn't have found out
something that you did find out if he
hadn’t luln here dying. You wouldn’t
have learned—”
But the sentence died h,
Bruce raude answer to a
out blow with his fist wl * k "«
strength behind It. |„ ,i e *“ '
of his enemy’s face. e
chapter XVI
Dave Turner traveled hard M
and he reached Simon’s &2,Z
for« sundown of the 8 Z*
Bruce was still a full twotH
tant. But Dave did not sUyTl
It was chore-time, and he fall
would And Simon in hla fan 1
vising the feeding and cw,
live stock. He had guessed**
the two men had a moment?!
the dusky passage behind thee
“I’ve brought news.” Dave 1
Simon made no answer at fat
saddle pony in the stall
in front of them, frlghtenedin
unfamiliar figure, hud crowded,
bling, against his manger, a
red eyes wutehed him; then fa
tered a short oath. He took
strides into the stall and mi*
halter rope In his huge, am
hand. Three times he Jerked k
a peculiar, quartering pull, t „
that might have been Ineffecthi
man of ordinary strength, bat
the incomprehensible might of
great forearm behind it wu n
terrible punishment. Dave th
for a moment his brother would
the animal’s neck; the white*
to show about the soft, dark j
of its eyes. The strap over the
broke with the fourth pull; th*
horse recoiled, plunging and ted
into the opposite corner of the
Simon leaped with shattering
at the creature’s shoulders, bl*
arms encircled its neck, hi* she
heaved, and he half-threw it ti
floor. Then, as It staggered t«
his heavy list flailed against ltii
Again and again lie struck, audit
lialf-darkness of the stable it
dreadful thing to behold. Hwi
fury, alwuys quickly aroused,
upon him; his brawny, form ■
with the agility of a panther. |
Duve, whose shallow eyes wereoa
wont to feast on cruelty, viewed
scene with some alarm. It want
he was moved by the agony of
horse. But he did remember I
horses cost money, and Simon m
determined to kill the animal ki
Ills passion was spent.
The horse cowered, and In i
ment more It was hard to rena
he was a member of a noble, I
spirited breed—a swift mnDer.li
as a dog, u servant faithful i
worthy. He stood quiet at 1st,
head hanging low, knees benti
curiously sorrowful anil dark. 1
fastened the broken strap abet
neck, gave it one more Jerk tfa
most knocked the animal off hill
then turned back to Dave. Excqt
a higher color in his cheeU k
lights in his eyes, and an aim*
perceptible quickening of hli kl
ing, it did not seem as if fa 1
moved.
“You’re alwnys bringing nen*
said. “If It’s as important ai mi
the other news you’ve brotqM
take my time.”
“All right," the other replltd
lenly. “You don’t have to bearl
I’m telling you it's of real impel*
this time —and some time you'll
out.” He scowled into the dark fl
“But suit yourself.”
Dave wulkod clear to thedoul
turned. “Don’t be a fool, Sin*
urged. “Listen to wliut I havett
you. Bruce Folger knows when I
secret agreement is.”
For once in his life Havel*
response of sum-lent emphtf
satisfy him. His brother whlrWJ
whole expression undergoing
mediate and startling change
there was one emotion that
never seen on Sinion's face
fear-and he didn’t know for«
that he saw it now. Hut th«*
alarm —unmistakable and
“What ilo you mean!" be
“Out with It!" Ills l"" c ”,
urgent now. not insolent M
“Good Lord, man, d " nt
that if Bruce gets that i
settlements before the
next month we're lost «
In this world can save us.
drive him off. like « %
Bosses. There's too
In the valleys. « hf * 7 I
there's only on" thine 1
me saddle a horse.” f M|
“Wait a minute. I dW ”
It. I only said he knew
He's still .m hour or tw
here, toward Little r ’ pi
have to wait for > dm j4
we’ve got plenty 0
course I ain’t quite s
where it is.” Jjj
“Ye*,” Simon ech! *?J»
strange half-wh'.poT;
buzzard, talk to hint.
CTO an cTiNTtweSd
Chalmers' Recipe.
Chaimer. ", * fblP a
The grand <*'* nt ‘ a '' M0 (lW
are—something to
love and something to
ton Transcript. .
Proper Definition of Valor.
Fe^Tdo-.e
MB. - ■ M '“ ■

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