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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"

Then, in
response to the significant silence of his guests, he added, in a tone
of chagrin which his forced heartiness could not disguise, "Well, boys,
it's a disappointment all round; but we must take the lesson as it
comes. I'll go over to the coach office and see if she's sent any word.
Make yourselves at home until I return."
When the door had closed behind him, Brace arose and took his hat as if
to go. With his hand on the lock, he turned to his rival, who,
half-hidden in the gathering darkness, still seemed unable to
comprehend his ill-luck.
"If you're waiting for that bald-headed fraud to come back with the
truth about his daughter," said Brace coolly, "you'd better send for
your things and take up your lodgings here."
"What do you mean?" said Dunn sternly.
"I mean that she's not at the Burnhams'; I mean that he does or does
not know _where_ she is, and that in either case he is not likely to
give you information. But I can."
"You can?"
"Yes."
"Then, where is she?"
"In the Carquinez Woods, in the arms of the man you were just
defending--Low, the half-breed.


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