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“Just out on a little jaunt. Where did you come from?”,

In a few words Bob sketched the happenings of the past few hours. When he finished by saying that the cavalry had arrived on the scene and had started chasing the Mexicans, the Chief breathed a sigh of relief.,

In the tiny bedroom in town Johnny Blossom laid his brown head on the pillow. “Thank you, dear God, thank you, thank you,” he murmured, and said no more, for he was overpowered by sleep.,

At last he passed the sluice gates which marked the center of the dam. A few rods further on he knew he must climb up and look over.

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“Yes, indeed; I thank you very much. And I want you to have a half moon today.”,

“Be off with yourself, boy!” he would always say if Johnny Blossom but put his nose in at the stable door.,

His captors began talking about the situation at the Mexican border and Bob drank in every word they said. It was just now that he began to realize what depth of feeling there was about the way the situation was being handled and to what lengths the ranchers and cattlemen would go to force the United States to make war on the other country. Wesley and Harper undoubtedly were “bad men,” but Bob was convinced by their talk that they had started on this particular piece of villainy for reasons which they thought were right. Probably when the thing began, they never planned anything worse than a strike among the Mexicans in order to delay for a year or two longer the flooding of the rangeland. Then had come the chance to induce the Mexicans to commit worse crimes in order to strengthen the feeling against Mexico and thus bring on war. Holman, the boss of these men and Bob’s host, had said that he wanted to move his stock to his ranch in Mexico when the dam was finished—but it would be foolish to do that while the country was still so unsettled. Presumably, there were a lot of men in the same fix as Holman, and these, naturally, wanted the United States to step in and make the unsettled country peaceful.,

Ferdinand, in the stillness and solitude of his dungeon, brooded over the late calamity in gloomy ineffectual lamentation. The idea of Hippolitus—of Hippolitus murdered—arose to his imagination in busy intrusion, and subdued the strongest efforts of his fortitude. Julia too, his beloved sister—unprotected—unfriended—might, even at the moment he lamented her, be sinking under sufferings dreadful to humanity. The airy schemes he once formed of future felicity, resulting from the union of two persons so justly dear to him—with the gay visions of past happiness—floated upon his fancy, and the lustre they reflected served only to heighten, by contrast, the obscurity and gloom of his present views. He had, however, a new subject of astonishment, which often withdrew his thoughts from their accustomed object, and substituted a sensation less painful, though scarcely less powerful. One night as he lay ruminating on the past, in melancholy dejection, the stillness of the place was suddenly interrupted by a low and dismal sound. It returned at intervals in hollow sighings, and seemed to come from some person in deep distress. So much did fear operate upon his mind, that he was uncertain whether it arose from within or from without. He looked around his dungeon, but could distinguish no object through the impenetrable darkness. As he listened in deep amazement, the sound was repeated in moans more hollow. Terror now occupied his mind, and disturbed his reason; he started from his posture, and, determined to be satisfied whether any person beside himself was in the dungeon, groped, with arms extended, along the walls. The place was empty; but coming to a particular spot, the sound suddenly arose more distinctly to his ear. He called aloud, and asked who was there; but received no answer. Soon after all was still; and after listening for some time without hearing the sounds renewed, he laid himself down to sleep. On the following day he mentioned to the man who brought him food what he had heard, and enquired concerning the noise. The servant appeared very much terrified, but could give no information that might in the least account for the circumstance, till he mentioned the vicinity of the dungeon to the southern buildings. The dreadful relation formerly given by the marquis instantly recurred to the mind of Ferdinand, who did not hesitate to believe that the moans he heard came from the restless spirit of the murdered Della Campo. At this conviction, horror thrilled his nerves; but he remembered his oath, and was silent. His courage, however, yielded to the idea of passing another night alone in his prison, where, if the vengeful spirit of the murdered should appear, he might even die of the horror which its appearance would inspire.