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Nicholson, Meredith, 1866-1947

"The Port of Missing Men"

I knew that if I ran for it they'd plug me for sure, and
that if I waited until they saw their mistake they would he afraid to
kill me. Ugh! I still taste the red soil of the Old Dominion."
"Come, Captain! Let us give the horses a chance to prove their blood.
These roads will be paste in a few hours."
The dawn was breaking sullenly, and out of a gray, low-hanging mist a
light rain fell in the soft, monotonous fashion of mountain rain. Much of
the time it was necessary to maintain single file; and Armitage rode
ahead. The fog grew thicker as they advanced; but they did not lessen
their pace, which had now dropped to a steady trot.
Suddenly, as they swept on beyond Lamar, they heard the beat of hoofs and
halted.
"Bully for us! We've cut in ahead of them. Can you count them,
Claiborne?"
"There are three horses all right enough, and they're forcing the beasts.
What's the word?"
"Drive them back! Ready--here we go!" roared Armitage in a voice intended
to be heard.
They yelled at the top of their voices as they charged, plunging into the
advancing trio after a forty-yard gallop.


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