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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"


"Hallo?"
No answer.
"Who fired that shot?"
But there was no reply. A slight veil of smoke passed away to the
right, there was the spice of gunpowder in the air, but nothing more.
The torches came forward again, but this time it could be seen they
were held in the hands of two men and a woman. The woman's hands were
tied at the wrist to the horse-hair reins of her mule, while a _riata_,
passed around her waist and under the mule's girth, was held by one of
the men, who were both armed with rifles and revolvers. Their
frightened horses curveted, and it was with difficulty they could be
made to advance.
"Ho! stranger, what are you shooting at?"
The woman laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Look yonder at the roots
of the tree. You're a d----d smart man for a sheriff, ain't you?"
The man uttered an exclamation and spurred his horse forward, but the
animal reared in terror. He then sprang to the ground and approached
the tree. The shape lay there, a scarcely distinguishable bulk.
"A grizzly, by the living Jingo! Shot through the heart.


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