"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. ” She looked at him with fluttering eyelids—sweetly grateful. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault. Miss Mary to the life. Mr.
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