He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. An hour later the doctor arrived; and after a thorough examination, he looked doubtful. "Can't I settle this business, Captain," muttered Blueskin, drawing a pistol. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. "But this is good enough to travel in, isn't it?" "To be sure it is. CHAPTER I.
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