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Nicholson, Meredith, 1866-1947

"The Port of Missing Men"


Moreover, his relations to the Claibornes were in an ugly tangle:
Chauvenet had dealt him a telling blow in a quarter where he particularly
wished to appear to advantage.
He jumped out of the day coach in which he had accomplished the last
stage of his journey to Lamar, just at dawn, and found Oscar with two
horses waiting.
"Good morning," said Oscar, saluting.
"You are prompt, Sergeant," and Armitage shook hands with him.
As the train roared on through the valley, Armitage opened one of the
suit-cases and took out a pair of leather leggings, which he strapped on.
Then Oscar tied the cases together with a rope and hung them across his
saddle-bow.
"The place--what of it?" asked Armitage.
"There may be worse--I have not decided."
Armitage laughed aloud.
"Is it as bad as that?"
The man was busy tightening the saddle girths, and he answered Armitage's
further questions with soldierlike brevity.
"You have been here--"
"Two weeks, sir."
"And nothing has happened? It is a good report."
"It is good for the soul to stand on mountains and look at the world.


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