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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"

What are you thinking of?
We shall be late."
In spite of his weakness, the wounded man hurriedly urged Brace
forward, until they reached the latter's lodgings. To his surprise, the
horse and buggy were already before the door.
"Then you reckoned to go, any way?" said Dunn, with a searching look at
his companion.
"I calkilated _somebody_ would go," returned Brace, evasively, patting
the impatient Buckskin; "but come in and take a drink before we leave."
Dunn started out of a momentary abstraction, put his hand on his hip,
and mechanically entered the house. They had scarcely raised the
glasses to their lips when a sudden rattle of wheels was heard in the
street. Brace set down his glass and ran to the window.
"It's the mare bolted," he said, with an oath. "We've kept her too long
standing. Follow me;" and he dashed down the staircase into the street.
Dunn followed with difficulty; when he reached the door he was
confronted by his breathless companion. "She's gone off on a run, and
I'll swear there was a man in the buggy!" He stopped and examined the
halter-strap, still fastened to the fence.


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